


Everything Except Temptation

by Macceh



Series: And all our Yesterdays [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Cuba Fix-It, Gen, Minor Moira MacTaggert/Charles Xavier, Minor Raven | Mystique/Hank McCoy, Time Travel Fix-It, X-Men: Days of Future Past Fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 79,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macceh/pseuds/Macceh
Summary: Change the past, to save the future. That was the plan. They'd planned to use Logan. They'd planned not to change Cuba. Because, Miss Walker was right, it would be dangerously foolish thing to do: to give Shaw a second chance to destroy the world. They'd be fools to risk it just to try to save a friendship that was broken nearly before it was begun… but maybe that's what they are – sentimental, old, fools…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written, years ago, before Days of Future Past was released. When I started writing this I only had the trailer to go off, and so the mechanisms of time travel in this fic are inconsistent with those shown in Days of Future Past (and there are a few other inconsistencies as well). In this fic going back in time is a permanent, one-way trip, Logan isn’t the only person capable of making it and the Professor and Magneto have been considering the possibility of sending someone back in time for rather longer than was portrayed in Days of Future Past.

** Everything except Temptation **

_“I can resist everything except temptation”_ – Oscar Wilde

**Prologue**

It’s not her ‘dirty little secret’, not _really_.

But some days it feels like it is.

It’s not that she’s doing anything wrong, _per se_. But she knows her students won’t see it like that. They’ll see it as a betrayal. They won’t understand why she does it. Quite frankly, she doesn’t really understand why she does it either.

It starts one sunny afternoon in  early September; the leaves are starting to turn, there’s a hint of a chill in the wind that gusts through the trees – a forecast of the months to come – but overall it’s still warm enough not to need more than a lightweight jacket over her summer dress. It’s one of her favourites; forget-me-not blue, strapless and full skirted. It makes her feel beautiful, like a movie star. It’s not just the dress that makes her feel like that; the man walking beside her is as responsible for that feeling as anything else. He makes her feel special, cherished, safe, and that’s partly why she can feel herself falling in love with him… that, and the fact that he doesn’t care about what she can do with her mind, doesn’t care that she’s different, doesn’t care that she’s not human like him… that she’s a mutant.

They stroll hand-in-hand through the park and Natalie can feel herself practically humming with happiness, she’s so full of it that it’s bubbling up and spilling over in gentle waves of joy and contentment. There’s a small smile on David’s face that lets her know that he’s noticed the second-hand emotions that she’s projecting – it’s one of the perils of dating an empath. But, he doesn’t say anything, he’s content to just enjoy it, to let her spread a little more joy around.

He’s not the only one who notices though.

They’re walking past a group of old men playing chess when one of the men looks up at them as they pass. Natalie turns to smile at him, to share her joy at the world, when she recognises the face beneath the wide brimmed hat. The smile freezes on her face, and her happiness evaporates so quickly that David feels it and turns to ask her what’s wrong. She shakes her head at him, dismisses it as nothing, leads him away from the man with the hat as fast as she can without it looking suspicious. She goes back to projecting joy and contentment - though this time it’s fake - and while she doesn’t think she’s completely convinced David that she is fine, he at least doesn’t ask her what’s wrong again. He trusts her to tell him when she’s ready.

She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready.

So she doesn’t understand why, the next day, she goes out of her way to walk back through the park. David isn’t with her this time. He’s at work and she should be too - yes, Ororo said she could handle things for a while, that Natalie should take some time and get away from the seething mass of teenage trauma and hormones that is the Xavier Institute at the moment. But they’re so short staffed, Natalie feels guilty about taking more than a day or two off at a time…. So, she really doesn’t understand why, instead of heading back to her students, she finds herself slipping into an empty seat in the park.

The man on the other side of the chessboard looks up as she sits down. There’s a mixture of amusement and curiosity in his eyes as he recognises her.

“Miss Walker, isn’t it?” He asks amiably.

Natalie nods and smiles cordially, she’s surprised he remembers her name - they’ve only actually met once before - but she hides her surprise behind a polite exterior. “Mr Lehnsherr.” She says, and then doesn’t know what else to say. She looks down at the board instead. He’s just laid out the pieces again, after his last game, and Natalie realises she’s sat down on the white side of the board. So, she picks up a pawn and moves it across the board. He raises a dignified eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything.

They play in silence for the next ten minutes until he beats her. She doesn’t say anything, just re-lays the pieces, and they start again. Their fourth game is interrupted by a phone call from a rather stressed Ororo, who apologises profusely for interrupting Natalie’s time off, but someone’s rather spectacularly blown up the TV and while, no, nobody’s actually physically hurt, there’s a very upset 12-year old who could do with the help of the school’s resident empath. Natalie is standing to leave before the phone call is even over; she nods a farewell to the man across the chessboard, more from an ingrained sense of politeness than anything else. He returns the gesture, but she barely notices as she hurries back to the chaos of Westchester.

XXXXXX

Over the next three weeks there are four more silent chess sessions. Some longer than others, most eventually end with Natalie having to hurry away to some semi-crisis or other – if she’d known 6 months ago, when Ororo first called, just how much stress was involved in teaching a bunch of emotionally traumatised mutants, well, Natalie isn’t sure she’d have been quite so quick to drop her PhD and fly across the Atlantic. Some days she thinks the only thing stopping her getting on a plane and flying back to England, back to the mad serenity of Cambridge, is the debt she feels she owes the Professor. Oh, she does love the kids really, wants them to grow and thrive, wants to help them heal, but she’s not used to the constant barrage of emotions living with dozens of teenagers entails.

She’s not used to the nightmares either.

She knows she’s lived a sheltered life. Knows, she’s been incredibly lucky compared to most of her students. She discovered her mutation quite late. She was already at University when she realised that the huge emotional mood swings she’d been experiencing for years weren’t just down to hormones, that they were due to other people’s emotions, not just her own. Thankfully, one of her Professors had understood what she was going through, had contacted an old friend of hers and arranged for Natalie to take a year out of her studies to learn how to control her talents under the tutelage of Professor Charles Xavier.

That was seven years ago. Since then she’s finished her undergraduate and Masters’ degrees, and is currently half way through a PhD on ‘The Genetic Heritage of Homo neanderthalensis in Modern Homo sapiens’. She’s spent the last seven years safe in Cambridge’s ivory towers, where nobody cares whether you’re gay or straight, human or mutant. Black or white or blue, male or female, all anyone really cares about is the quality of your research. Even in the academic bubble of Cambridge, though, she’d been aware of the growing tensions between humans and mutants out in the wider world. But, they’d seemed like distant worries compared to thesis deadlines and lectures and the trials of teaching undergraduates.

Distant, until Ororo Munroe had telephoned to tell her that Professor Xavier was dead, and to ask her if she would be able to take a year’s sabbatical to come and teach at the Xavier Institute.

Distant, until she’d spent her first night experiencing the second hand nightmares of several dozen traumatised teenagers.  

Those tensions are painfully close now.

Those tensions are looking at her over a chessboard.

The man previously known as Magneto studies her as she studies the board; she can feel his eyes on her but she keeps all her attention on the pieces in front of her. They’ve played well over a dozen games over the last few weeks and not once has Natalie come even close to winning. She’s not really surprised by that though; Chess isn’t her strength and she knows Erik Lehnsherr has had decades of experience playing against one of the greatest minds of his generation.

Still, the constant losing is starting to annoy her.

She wonders if that’s the reason she keeps coming back. A stubborn desire to persevere against the odds is one of the cornerstones of her personality; stubbornness got her through her degrees, is getting her through her PhD, and if she’s being brutally honest is the real reason she hasn’t got on a plane back to England yet (that and David). But, she doesn’t really think that’s the reason she’s sat here playing chess with a man who scares the shit out of her.

She wants to say it’s a desire to overcome her fears, to conquer the object of so many of her students’ nightmares, that causes her to keep coming back to this park, to this man, but she knows that’s not the real reason either.

The cynical part of her suggests it’s because the school is a deafening chorus of loud voices and even louder emotions, and this man at least knows how to keep his thoughts quiet.

The honest part of her suspects it’s something simpler. Something simpler and yet infinitely more complicated. Something as integral a part of her personality as her stubbornness: curiosity.

The truth is she’s curious about Erik Lehnsherr. She knows he was the Professor’s friend, his ally. That they once trusted each other, that even after decades of disagreement, of fighting, the Professor still went to visit this man in prison, to play chess with him. She wants to know what happened to push them apart. She wants to know what drives a man to do the things Magneto did. She wants to know why a clever man like Lehnsherr (and he most certainly is a clever man even if he isn’t quite the genius the Professor was) can’t see how stupid his attacks on humanity were, how he only made things worse for the mutant cause. She could dress that curiosity up in noble clothes and claim it is all in the cause of learning how to prevent any of her students following in Magneto’s footsteps, but the truth is she just likes to know how things work, how people work.

She moves her bishop and waits for him to take her castle.

He does and she takes his knight.

She can’t help but feel slightly smug as he raises a surprised eyebrow – it’s the first time she’s made a move he hasn’t expected. She’s not stupid, she knows he’s been playing with her, stringing their games along, drawing them out because he can and because he knows he can win any time he likes. He leans back in his chair and smiles slightly. “Not bad.” He says, the first words either of them has said to each other since they greeted each other three weeks ago, and she finds herself smiling back at him.

Six moves later he has her in checkmate.

She lays down her king and as she leans back in her chair she realises she’s still smiling. Then she realises he’s smiling as well and there’s something that almost looks like pride in his eyes when he looks at her and reaches over to replace the knight she took. And _that_ just makes her more curious.

“Why?” She asks suddenly.

He looks up, his brow furrowing in polite curiosity. “‘Why’ what, my dear?”

“Why did you make them hate us even more?”

He frowns at that and puts down the bishop he just picked up. “What do you mean?”

She raises an incredulous eyebrow; he knows exactly what she means. “Everything you did, every time you attacked them, you just made them hate us more, fear us more.”

“They were always going to fear us.”

Her thoughts drift briefly to David, wonderful, human, David who definitely doesn’t fear her. “Really?”

“Humanity will always fear what it doesn’t understand.”

She inclines her head slightly in a half nod acquiescing the point. “True, but the solution to that is education, not violence.”

“You sound just like Charles, my dear.” There’s something in his voice that means she doesn’t quite know how to take that, whether it’s meant to be a compliment or not. His tone is neutral, but there’s something in his eyes, a sadness, almost bitter but not quite, and something else, regret perhaps? Whatever it is, it feels oddly private and Natalie finds herself shying away from it, not wanting to pry.

Instead she shrugs slightly and continues the conversation, as if she hasn’t just caught a fleeting glimpse of this man’s soul. “Look at any civil rights movement; peaceful protest and education are more effective than terrorist bombings and murders. History shows us that it’s a futile course of action.”

He tips his head slightly, though whether it’s to concede her point or not, she’s not sure. “History also has its share of genocides.” He says quietly, his tone iron hard. She doesn’t know whether it’s a conscious movement or not, but he turns his wrist slightly and for the first time she notices the numbers inked into his forearm.

She knows what they mean.

She leans back in her chair studying the man in front of her in the light of this revelation. He meets her gaze. He knows what she’s just seen and his eyes are challenging her to argue against his point. She doesn’t, not yet. Instead she reaches out and silently finishes laying out the chess pieces.

She moves a pawn and then sits back again, waiting him for him to make his move.

They move pieces in silence for several minutes. She watches him more than she watches the board. Eventually she moves a bishop into an obvious trap, sits back and says, “Do you think we are the Master race?”

He looks up sharply, frowning at her with anger in his eyes. Her words were chosen deliberately and she knows he hasn’t missed the implication behind them… If looks could kill… but she keeps calmly meeting his gaze, because she knows she’s right.

Eventually he breaks the staring contest and looks down at the board. He makes his move. She makes a move in return.

Ten moves later he has her in checkmate.

In silence he lays out the pieces again. This game lasts precisely ten minutes. As she lays down her king he smiles politely at her and stands. “My apologies, my dear, but it’s getting late and I have errands to attend to.” She accepts his excuses and bids him good evening, pretending she isn’t fully aware that, despite the outcome of the chess games, she had just won this round.

XXXXXX

The next time she walks through the park, he isn’t there. And the next... In fact, it’s another three weeks before she sees him again.

And, when she does, she’s with David….

She spots him from a distance, but before she can turn and walk David out of the park he spots her and raises his hand in greeting. And, David sees. Of course David sees. Bloody Magneto had intended for David to see! And, now there’s no way she can avoid introducing them. But the thought of introducing the man she’s falling in love with to the man who still, even without his powers, haunts her nightmares and her students’ nightmares… well, that thought twists her stomach into terrified knots.

David knows that something is wrong. It’s clear in the way he raises a questioning eyebrow, in the way he slips a protective arm around her waist as they walk towards Erik Lehnsherr, that David is picking up on the worry she’s trying to hide. She smiles at him and squeezes his hand to reassure him that’s she’s alright, even though she really isn’t.

“Good afternoon, Miss Walker.” Erik Lehnsherr stands to greet them politely as they approach. And is she just being paranoid or is there the briefest touch of shark-like smugness in the smile he offers them?

She smiles back with chilling politeness. As David is so keen to teasingly remind her, she _is_ English and in situations like this that means being completely, unfailingly, if somewhat coldly, polite. “Good Afternoon, Mr Lehnsherr. David, this is Erik Lehnsherr, an old friend of Professor Xavier’s, you remember I told you about the Professor. Mr Lehnsherr this is David Taylor, a friend of mine.” The arm David has around her waist makes it obvious that he’s more than a friend but Magneto has clearly played this game of over-politeness before and makes no comment. She doesn’t know whether David has played this game before, but he’s good at picking up cues, and so he disengages his hand from around her waist and holds it out to Lehnsherr.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Lehnsherr.”

They shake hands and exchange a few more pleasantries and then Natalie’s phone rings.  She frowns briefly in surprise before apologising and excusing herself to answer it. She takes a few steps away from the two men to answer the call, feeling somewhat - probably foolishly - nervous about moving even a few metres away from them. She suppresses a sigh as she sees that it’s Ororo who’s calling and somewhat bitterly she wonders what the kids have done this time.

A moment later she regrets that uncharitable thought.

“Say that again.” Her words are quiet, but so sharp that they draw the attention of the two men making small talk nearby. She ignores them, because Storm cannot have just said what Natalie thinks she’s just said, because they’ve been assured that the Cure is permanent, and a girl like Marie really should not have to go through this again.

“You’re sure. I mean Rogue’s sure. Yes, I appreciate that… But, there was nobody else around that could have caused it? Right… Have you spoken to Dr McCoy? Yes, I’m sure she’s upset. Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I ca…” She stops mid-word and all the colour drains out of her face as she turns and sees Erik Lehnsherr looking at her with a politely concerned frown on his face. Erik Lehnsherr. Magneto. Standing a mere metre away from David. Shit.

“Storm.” She says the name slowly, trying to fight against the cold fear that’s just grabbed her heart and squeezed. “I’m in the park with Magneto.” There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a very long moment. Natalie hears the unspoken ‘What the hell are you doing in the park with Magneto?’ but Storm has enough sense not to waste time with stupid questions. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Is what she says instead. Thank God.

Natalie fumbles the phone back into her handbag and tries to pull together some semblance of calm as she begins to move back towards the two men. She prepares herself to pretend nothing’s wrong, but she’s not taken more than two steps before she knows it’s futile – Magento knows.

She sees the moment that he realises and the moment he realises that she knows that he knows; it all flickers across his eyes in a heartbeat.

In the next heartbeat there’s a metal pawn in Magento’s hand.

The heartbeat after that and the pawn is pressed against David’s shirt, hovering there between his third and fourth ribs; right above his heart.  It happens so fast that nobody else in the park has noticed anything amiss. Natalie is frozen with fear. David is staring down in shock at the small piece of metal resting so close to his vital organs. Magneto is just watching her, waiting for her to do something, say something. If there was space in her head to think she might realise that that is a little odd, as is the fact he’s not smiling. If she’d thought about it at all she might have expected smugness, a sense of victory, from him in a situation like this, but he’s oddly, almost grimly, calm.

Finally, she unfreezes enough to take another two steps forward. The pawn presses harder against David’s chest. He sucks in a breath trying to move his skin away from the cold metal. Natalie stops moving. She feels her hands clench into fists by her side; the physical manifestation of the anger and fear that is now rolling off her in waves.

“What do you want?” She hisses.

Now, he smiles, but it’s not smug or victorious, if anything it’s slightly sad, almost regretful. He opens his mouth and says something, but she won’t remember what.

In fact, she won’t remember anything else until she and David wake up in a stolen car, three weeks later and 200 hundred miles away, by the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. There will be a band of metal wrapped around David’s throat and Natalie will have one the worst headache she’s ever had: it will feel like her skull is being split in two.

Neither of them will have any recollection of what happened after Magneto smiled.

XXXXXX

It will only be years later, after the world has gone to hell… when she has tears streaming down her face… when her throat is raw from screaming her grief to the world… when David’s life blood is soaking into her clothes… when she finds herself drowning in grief and wishing with all her soul that she could go back and change things, that she could just stop this hell from happening. It will only be then, when she is knee deep in blood and mud and pain, that the walls in her mind will come crashing down and she’ll finally remember what happened…

Seventeen days after that, with a single-mindedness honed by grief, she will succeed in tracking down Magneto.


	2. Chapter 2

1962

It’s times like these, when he’s picking his way across a basement filled with semi-comatose heroin addicts, that Erik Lehnsherr wonders why he _really_ decided to stay with the CIA when Charles Xavier asked him to. It can’t have just been a desire for allies – there must be an easier way to find mutants capable of helping him destroy Shaw than this. Yes, he probably wouldn’t be able to find mutants as quickly as Charles and Cerebo can if he was by himself, but at least he wouldn’t have to put up with Charles’ constant attempts to help mutants who are going to be of little or no use in their fight against Shaw. This one for example; they do not need another telepath – they have Charles – and there is no way a drug addled mutant is going to be an advantage. Unfortunately, one thing Erik has learnt about Charles over the last few weeks is that he can’t resist trying to save people…

“Erik! I’ve found her!”

Erik breathes a sigh of relief; for the last few hours Charles has been fretting endlessly, insisting they drive faster, that they all but run down the streets, that they hurry, hurry, hurry, because damn it Erik, there isn’t much time!

When he finally lays eyes on the mutant, Erik can suddenly appreciate Charles’ desire for haste – she’s barely breathing.

There’s a deep frown creasing the young Professor’s brow as he kneels beside the unconscious woman. He looks up as Erik approaches.

 “We have to get her to a hospital. Now!”

2016

They’ve been driving for hours. The car is stolen and while David is the one in the driver’s seat it’s really Magneto who’s controlling the vehicle.

He’s also controlling David and Natalie, though in a slightly less direct fashion; there’s a thin band of metal encircling David’s throat. This morning that metal was a pawn on a chess board, now it’s a hangman’s noose around David’s neck. It’s a threat so clear that Magneto hasn’t even had to voice it; if they do anything other than what he tells them to, he’ll kill David.

The tension in the car is so thick that it’s palpable even to those without the ability to sense emotions.

To Natalie, who _can_ sense emotions, it’s enough to give her a migraine.

She reaches up to rub her forehead, to try and ease the bud of pain that’s growing in her temple. When David notices he reaches over to where she’s sat in the front passenger seat and squeezes her knee reassuringly. She forces a smile and taking his hand in her own she squeezes back.

She doesn’t let go of his hand for the next two hours.

His other hand stays, somewhat pointlessly, on the steering wheel. He knows it’s pointless; he’s not driving and they’ve not seen anyone else for miles; there’s nobody to notice that he’s not the one in control of the car. But, it gives him at least some semblance of control in a situation where he knows his life (and Natalie’s - though he suspects Magneto will only hurt her as a very last resort) hangs by a thread.

It’s pitch black outside when the car finally stops. Natalie sits up with a start; she’s spent the last fifty miles or so in a semi-doze, with David’s thumb rubbing reassuring circles into her palm. They’re miles from any kind of civilization, the only light outside comes from the Milky Way and the gibbous moon hanging low on the horizon.

And then Natalie realises that that isn’t quite correct; there’s a light up ahead shining golden, through the trees.

The car doors open without anyone touching them. Natalie and David share a brief look before turning to the man sat in the back seat. He raises an eyebrow at them and then steps out of the car. They share another look. David squeezes her hand again and then lets it go to exit the car. She follows, and the moment they’re both free of the vehicle David slips an arm around her waist and pulls her protectively close to him – it won’t do anything to defend either of them from Magneto, but it makes them both feel a little better.

In silence they follow Magneto up the dirt track towards the light blinking through the trees.

The light is coming from inside a small wooden cabin. It’s stereotypical in its construction, right down to the little chimney on the roof with a wisp of smoke curling out of it. It’s the sort of place that is shorthand for either homeliness or terror, depending on the sort of movie you’re watching. Right now though it just feels odd, not creepy odd as such, but rather out of place; not where you’d expect to be taken after being kidnapped by a homicidal mutant supremacist.

Magneto walks up the shallow ramp that leads up to the front door. He opens the door with a wave of his hand and then stands there, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for them to enter the cabin ahead of him.

Natalie and David share another brief look. The hand around Natalie’s waist tightens ever so slightly and then they walk through the door into the cabin.

Magneto shuts the door behind them, but Natalie doesn’t notice. She doesn’t notice the questioning look David is suddenly giving her or the way he tries to grasp her hand as she takes a step forward. She can’t, all her focus is on the man sat in the wheelchair in the centre of the room.

1962

They manhandle the unconscious woman out onto the street. It shouldn’t be this difficult; she barely weighs anything and Erik can lift her easily. But, Charles is insisting on making things difficult. The telepath has two fingers glued to the woman’s skull and no matter how awkward it is for Erik he won’t remove them. When Erik suggests it the young Professor just glares at him and mutters something about ‘trying to find her before we lose her completely’.

Erik assumes it’s some telepath thing and just concentrates on getting all three of them out of the basement in one piece.

The car the CIA gave them is parked several streets away. It’s early afternoon and they get some curious looks from passers-by as they hurry along the pavements, but in this part of town it doesn’t pay to get involved with other people’s business, so nobody says anything or tries to stop them, they just watch. Watch, as two men carry a clearly unconscious woman down the street in broad daylight. The sheer apathy of so much of humanity angers Erik; they could be doing anything with this woman and yet nobody so much as queries what they’re doing or asks if she needs help. He’s not really surprised though, he saw the same apathy when the soldiers came knocking at the door of his parent’s house – nobody spoke up then either.

“Erik, I’m losing her.” Charles’ voice, tight with fear, cuts through Erik’s maudlin thoughts.  He glances down at the woman in his arms, she’s deathly pale now and her breathing is so shallow it’s barely noticeable.

“We’re almost there.” Erik mutters, lengthening his stride and increasing his pace so that Charles has to half jog to keep up. The car is just around the corner and after a little effort they get her and Charles into the backseat. Charles’ fingers are still pressed against her temple while he uses his other hand to prevent her from falling off the backseat.

“She’s fading Erik, you need to hurry.” He doesn’t need to hear those words to appreciate the urgency that’s needed; he can see how shallow her breathing is from here. So, he doesn’t bother replying to Charles, just starts the car and sets about breaking as many traffic laws as he can without jolting his passengers.

Ten minutes later Erik pulls the car up outside the hospital.

2016

“Hello Natalie.” The Professor says with a small smile.

For several long moments, she doesn’t say anything. She just stands and stares, a shocked expression on her face. Then, finally…

“You’re dead.” The words are flat and emotionless; shock is preventing her from expressing anything more.

“Clearly not.” Magneto’s dry tone reminds her of the metal-bender’s presence. Her head snaps around to glare at him and then a thought strikes her and she swivels back to study the man in the wheelchair.  Her brow furrows into a deep frown and she studies the Professor intently.

And then she starts to unfurl her mind.

Empathy isn’t the same as telepathy, not quite. But, they’re similar; cousins of a sort. And while she can’t read thoughts, she can read emotions and people are just made up of emotions; seething, rolling, masses of love and hate and anger and joy.  Each personality is a unique cocktail shifting and changing as the world changes around them, but always at the centre there’s something recognisable, something constant. She stretches out her senses towards the man claiming to be the Professor. A shape shifter might be able to fool the eye, but there’s no way Mystique can fake someone’s emotional signature, and especially not a signature that Natalie knows as well as she knows Professor Xavier’s.

_It really is me, Natalie._

The voice in her head makes her start. She freezes in shock and for a long moment she can’t move, can’t even breathe and then she lets out a strangled sob, because Mystique can’t fake that either – that presence in her head that is so familiar from her time studying with the Professor.

It really is him.

“How?” The question slips out before she even realises she’s thought it. “You were… How are you not dead?”

“That’s rather a long story.” Professor Xavier says with a small smile.

“Rather longer than we have time for at the moment.” Magneto cuts in, striding across the room to stand next to the Professor.

Natalie frowns at that, at the two men in front of her who look so _right_ standing next to each other (and doesn’t that thought just feel odd in her head). Then she glances over at David who is standing to one side looking incredibly confused – even more confused than Natalie feels – and she remembers the fear of the last few hours and she feels a sudden surge of anger towards these two men.

“Why did you bring us here?” She asks coldly.

They don’t look surprised at her anger, or the way she steps towards David as she speaks and slips her hand into his. Instead they share a brief look, before Magneto says, simply. “We require your assistance.”

1962

It’s organised chaos from the moment Erik enters the Emergency Room carrying the unconscious woman. The duty nurse is taking her pulse within seconds and moments after that several doctors come running down the corridor. Charles has finally removed his fingers from the woman’s forehead and Erik suspects his friend is now putting his talents to other uses – doctors do _not_ normally appear that soon after a patient enters the ER. 

And then she’s being lifted out of Erik’s arms, onto a gurney and wheeled away to a private ward, leaving the two mutants looking slightly lost as professionals bustle about their business.

The two men exchange a look and Charles’ nods along the corridor in the direction of the waiting room. The telepath’s fingers are now resting against his own temple, and Erik knows he’ll be monitoring the woman’s progress while they wait.

2016

“My assistance with what?” Natalie asks, curious despite herself.

“More your opinion, your advice,” Professor Xavier elaborates, though his words just serve to confuse Natalie even more.

“My advice? What could you possibly need my advice for?” That comes out slightly more sharply than she intended, but she’s genuinely surprised – between them these two men have more experience than her in pretty much everything – what could they possibly need her help with?

“There are certain problems one finds oneself too close to, too emotionally involved with.” Magneto explains carefully. “We need a neutral observer as it were.”

“A neutral observer for what?”

“For us,” The Professor answers, “for the whole of our past.”

1962

Erik can see the strain on Charles’ face as he pulls up a chair beside the hospital bed and once again presses his fingers to the woman’s forehead. He hasn’t been able to do that for the last hour while the doctors and nurses swarmed around their unconscious patient, while machines and tubes popped up like ugly metallic mushrooms all around her, and not being able to help had set Charles pacing up and down the waiting room in a way that had quickly set Erik’s nerves on edge.

The smell of antiseptic is everywhere and Erik is having to fight to keep down the memories that that smell brings back, but right now he can’t succumb to those memories, right now he needs to hold it together because Charles so clearly isn’t. It’s unnerving to see the normally so composed young man fretting about someone he’s never even met before. Unnerving and quite frankly baffling that the telepath can _care_ this much about someone whose name he doesn’t even know.

It’s not that Erik doesn’t care; doesn’t want this nameless woman, this nameless mutant, to pull through and survive. He does. But, he’s a realist; he knows that sometimes people die no matter how hard you try to save them.

2016

“Pardon?” That wasn’t what Natalie was expecting them to say. If she’s being honest she really had no idea what she expected them to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“We need you to go through our memories, through our past.” The Professor explains, fixing her with his piercing blue eyes.  “We need you to find the point where it all went wrong.”

“And the points where we could make it right.”  Magneto finishes.

Natalie just stares at them for several very long minutes. “Right,” She says finally. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and _actually_ explain to me what is going on?”

1962

Charles can feel her slipping away from him, slipping further and further into darkness. There’s sweat beading on his brow from the effort it’s taking to keep a grip on her mind, it’s like trying to grasp water – it keeps slipping through his fingers.

It’s like she doesn’t want to be saved and that thought is incomprehensible to Charles. Incomprehensible and frustrating because there’s no way he can save her if she doesn’t try and help herself, and it’s such a waste! She has such potential, could be so much more, could have so much to live for if she only tries. But she’s giving up on life and damn it he can’t help her if she gives up! He’s not going to give up though, not going to stop trying, not until the very en…

He slumps back in the chair suddenly, his mind reeling. Then he looks up at Erik like a lost child.

“I’ve lost her. She’s gone.”


	3. Chapter 3

2016

“It has to be after Cuba.” Natalie says the words firmly because she is expecting the rebellious looks she gets from the two older mutants. She knows she’s right about this though. “It’s too risky to try and change Cuba! Do you really want to give Shaw another chance to start a nuclear war?”

They know she’s right, but they don’t like it. After a long moment the Professor finally nods; he only looks mildly disappointed. “After Cuba.” He agrees. Magneto continues to look defiant but allows them to turn the conversation to the events after Cuba.

They’ve been at this for nearly two weeks now; trying to work out the best way to change the past, to decide what point to send someone back to, the point where they can do the most good. There are old newspaper cuttings, covering the last five decades, and a huge timeline pinned up on the back wall of the cabin, all covered with handwritten notes. The first week had been spent almost entirely in the minds of Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr; in their memories, going over everything that ever happened to them, everything that made them the men they are today. And now they are going over everything Natalie saw, everything they showed her and working through the tangled web of action and consequence to find the turning points in their history.

Eight weeks ago Natalie had been curious about Magneto, now she knows everything about him and the Professor. She knows more than she ever wanted to know. She knows about the concentration camps, about Schmidt, she knows about Raven, about Oxford, about Agent McTaggert, about Argentina, about Miami, about the CIA and Westchester, about Dr McCoy and Alex and Sean and Angel and Darwin….

And, she knows about Cuba.

Good God, does she know about Cuba! She’s lived it through both their eyes several times. They all know that it’s the biggest turning point; that it’s the moment when everything falls apart. Yes, there are other points where things could have been different, where they could have done things differently, but Cuba is the hinge on which the whole of their history hangs.

Change Cuba and you could change the world.

And that is the problem.

They want to change it, she knows that. She still doesn’t understand how they think can change the past, but she knows they believe they can. And they both want to change Cuba so much that the desire to do so, the yearning to right that wrong, hangs heavy over the cabin. She understands, she really does – how could she not when she’s lived both their lives. But, damn it, this is why they wanted a neutral observer and this neutral observer is adamant that they cannot change Cuba! It’s far too risky.

“Food’s ready.”

David’s voice from the doorway interrupts their conversation. And just the sound of his voice is enough to light Natalie up like a candle. She turns from their conversation and bounds across the room to bestow a kiss on the human’s cheek. Behind her the Professor and Magneto share an indulgent smile at the young woman’s actions; they can feel her love for this man, bright and fresh, bubbling out of her. Normally she’s good at keeping her emotions tight to her chest, at not projecting them for the world to feel – thanks to the Professor’s tutelage – but she feels so much for this man that it spills over – she’s probably not even aware she’s doing it, and neither of the two older mutants can bring themselves to ask her to stop.

As Natalie reaches up to press her lips against David’s cheek her fingers brush against the metal encircling David’s neck.

She’d almost forgotten about it.

Almost, but not quite.

David is aware of it the whole time, of course, how can he not be. And, whenever Natalie sees him she remembers it’s there and feels a stab of fear, pain and anger deep in her gut. But, it’s the bits in between that scare her more, the times when she gets so sucked into this problem the Professor has asked her to solve, that she forgets everything else. She forgets that the man she loves has a noose around his neck. She’s always had an academic’s tendency to get lost in her work, but that she can get so lost that she forgets something like that is unnerving.

They’ve not asked Magneto to remove it.

Natalie says he probably would if they asked him to. But, it’s not a very confident ‘probably’ – decades of distrust of humans do not disappear overnight. And, Natalie’s not ready for the argument that would ensue if that ‘probably’ turns out to be a ‘no’. And then of course there’s the conversation David overheard their second night here… the one he hasn’t told Natalie about, the one she slept through – exhausted from her first day trawling through the Professor’s memories. The one where the Professor asked Lehnsherr (David refuses to call him Magneto, much to the German’s frustrated amusement) to remove the metal…

“I hardly think that’s wise, Charles.”

“Really Erik, what do you think he’s going to do?”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

A pause, a silence that echoes loudly through the room.

“Natalie has agreed to help us.” The Professor’s voice is vaguely reproachful.

“She has for now but that’s just because she finds it an interesting academic puzzle. It’s not real to her. She doesn’t believe it’s actually possible to do what we’re suggesting. The consequences of being able to change the past haven’t sunk in yet. When they do she’ll realise how much she has to lose.”

“There’s a lot to gain too.”

“Not for her. Don’t be naïve Charles. Changing our past will change her entire life. At the very least she’ll never meet that human of hers. At the worst, she’ll never be born.”

There’s a sigh from the Professor. “Which is why it will only be our last resort.”

“I know, old friend. But, we have to be prepared for the worst.”

At that point David had reached for the door handle to quietly close the door to the small bedroom he and Natalie were sharing. He’d placed his hand on the metal and felt it turn underneath his hand, pulling the door outwards instead of inwards. The door had opened just wide enough for David to see Lehnsherr’s grimly amused face looking straight at him, before it had swung slowly back of its own accord and clicked shut.

When David had then climbed into bed next to the sleeping Natalie it had taken him a very long time to fall asleep.

XXXXXX

“Food’s ready.”

Dinner tonight is a chilli that David’s thrown together from a tin of tomatoes, a pack of frozen mince and a surprisingly exhaustive collection of dried herbs and spices he’d found in one of the cupboards. When they’d first arrived there had been enough food for a month stuffed into the cabin’s small kitchen. The fresh stuff had gone by the end of the first week, so now it’s all tinned and frozen (there’s a small freezer powered by an external generator). By default David has found himself taking up the role of cook and quartermaster while the mutants dissect the past. He doesn’t mind too much, he’s not a fantastic chef, but he’s competent enough and it gives him something to do while the others sit in silence traipsing through the old men’s heads or else jabber away about ‘action and consequence’ and ‘temporal turning points’ and events that are mostly unknown to David.

He has far too much time to think as it is.

By nature, David is a man of action, a doer, not a thinker like Natalie, and being stuck in this cabin with nothing to do but watch other people think is slowly driving him crazy. He’s doing his best to hide it – he doesn’t want to upset Natalie – but he’s not sure how much more of this he can take. Natalie appears to be oblivious to his steadily growing cabin fever, which is unusual for the empath. Normally she’s almost irritatingly aware of what he’s feeling. But, she’s hip-deep inside a problem to solve, and while he’s only known her for a few months, he’s known her long enough to know that when she has a puzzle to worry away at she’s almost oblivious to the rest of the world. So, he shouldn’t be too surprised that she’s not picking up on his emotions at the moment… And then, of course, there’s the sideways look he’s been getting from the Professor every now and again, when he’s been finding things particularly hard, a look that’s far too knowing… When David notices those looks he remembers that Xavier is a telepath, and he starts to wonder whether the wily old man in the wheelchair is preventing Natalie from sensing his emotions…

If that’s the case, David doesn’t know whether to be angry or grateful.

Dinner conversation is somewhat less stilted than it was two weeks ago, but it’s still not exactly what you’d call comfortable. For David’s sake, they’ve ruled that the dinner table is a ‘temporal turning point’ free zone, which leaves the possible fields of conversation somewhat sparse. Current Human/Mutant relations are off the table ever since Lehnsherr tried to bait David about the anti-mutant riots earlier this year… the ones David had been on duty for… the ones where he’d first met Natalie (she’d offered the police her assistance in trying to calm the crowds).

The Professor had ended that particular conversation with a look and a quiet “Erik…”

The riots haven’t come up since. Politics of a more general sort has similarly been avoided. And they’ve long ago caught the Professor up on the current status of most of his former students. Apart from that there isn’t much to cover; after two weeks stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere the small talk starts to get a little repetitive.

Somehow the conversation has found its way back to Natalie’s PhD thesis, a topic that’s safe enough provided Lehnsherr keeps his opinions on evolutionary superiority to himself. At the moment Natalie and the Professor are discussing some obscure branch of evolutionary genetics in such academic detail that David can only follow about one word in ten. Lehnsherr looks like he’s doing slightly better, managing perhaps one in three… The older man glances over at David and they find themselves sharing an amused smile at the two academics who are chattering on, oblivious to the rest of the world.

He’s a strange one, Lehnsherr, David reflects as they start to clear away the dishes, leaving the other two to prattle on. The man is clearly dangerous and no fan of humans. He’s more than capable of killing David in an instant – the band of metal nestled against David’s Adam’s apple attests to that. And yet, he’s been nothing but polite to David, even when threatening or baiting him, the mutant has always been perfectly _civilized._ His affection for the Professor is clear to see, and he also seems to be quite fond of Natalie, in a tolerant Great Uncle sort of way. And, surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to disapprove of David and Natalie’s cross-species relationship. Though he doesn’t exactly approve of it either, not in the way the Professor does; smiling at every display of affection as if each one vindicates his belief in the possibility of human-mutant cohabitation.

Frankly, David prefers Lehnsherr’s tolerant disinterest.

Though really, he’d prefer to be away from both the old men entirely.

So, he cherishes the moments late in the evening, when he and Natalie are curled up in bed together, when it’s just the two of them, away from the piercing gazes of the two older mutants.

Most nights they talk about inconsequential things, or else don’t talk at all, but tonight David feels the need to address the elephant in the room - the fact that the two men sleeping just along the corridor want to go back in time and change history…

“It’s not going to happen.” Natalie assures him. “Going back in time is physically impossible. It violates the Principle of Causality.”

“And being able to bend metal with your mind doesn’t break Causality?” He asks somewhat caustically.

“No, it doesn’t break Causality!” She replies with that tolerant, amused smile that comes out whenever he fails to completely grasp some advanced scientific concept – dammit he’s a cop not an academic! “But, I get your point.” She concedes. “It does rather upset Maxwell’s electromagnetic equations… Still, time travel? Do you really believe it’s possible?”

David shrugs, not reassured by the sudden uncertainty in her voice. “I don’t know.” He says. “But, they believe it is.”

XXXXXX

A week later the four occupants of the cabin stand staring at the huge timeline plastered across the back wall of the cabin. It has been cleared of everything apart from half a dozen post-it notes marking the best points from which to change the past.

At Natalie’s insistence, none of the post-it’s are located before Cuba.

“What now?” David asks when the silence becomes too much to bear.

“Now, we go back to our lives and hope that these three weeks have been spent in a pointless mental exercise.” Magneto says dryly.

“Back to our lives?” David asks incredulously. “As far as the rest of the world is concerned you’re a wanted terrorist and the Professor is dead! How do you expect us to explain where we’ve been for three weeks?”

“Can you really change the past?” Natalie blurts out the question before either the Professor or Magneto has a chance to address David’s concerns.

“Yes.” The Professor says the word so simply, so firmly, that Natalie much to her own distress can’t help but believe him.

“Will you?”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“That’s not really an answer, Professor.”

“It’s the only one I have I’m afraid. I hope it won’t be necessary, but I fear there is a storm coming, and it’s best to be prepared.”

Natalie looks at the two older men for a long moment before she says, very carefully. “When you make that decision, be sure that it really _is_ necessary. You both want to change the past too much to be able to make that choice completely objectively.”

The Professor nods slowly, neither he nor Magneto appears offended at her frankness. “We’ll bear that in mind.” He assures her. “Now, as David pointed out the world thinks I’m dead and needs to continue to believe that for a while longer. So, I apologise, but I’m going to have to wipe your memory of the last few weeks.” David and Natalie share an uncertain look but neither of them can summon a convincing counter-argument to the mind-wipe.

XXXXXX

So, they wake up hours later and several miles away wondering what the hell happened after Magneto smiled in that park.

XXXXXX

1962

Charles sits up suddenly, his face a strange mixture of confused and hopeful. He leans forward across the bed of the woman he’s just declared brain dead and presses his fingers to her forehead once more. He stays like that until his frown slowly eases into a disbelieving smile. Then he releases his grip and leans back into his chair. For a long moment he just stares at the unconscious woman and then finally he looks up at Erik who is raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

“I don’t understand it…” Charles says quietly, in answer his friend’s unspoken question. He glances back at the woman in the hospital bed. “She was gone, but now she isn’t...”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I can tell Oliver Platt’s character in First Class is only credited as ‘Man in Black Suit’. If anyone knows his actual name please let me know. For now I have called him Agent Babish, after Oliver Platt’s character in The West Wing

“She’s feels different, but she’s definitely there.” Charles elaborates. When he’d dived into her mind just now it had been a swirling turbulent mess. Like a still pond that’s been disturbed by a storm; all the stirred up silt had made it difficult to see. He’d tried his best though, swimming against currents that weren’t there the previous times he was in her head, battling eddies and vortexes that swirl in the sands of her consciousness – it was an effort not to drown himself, let alone save her as well. Eventually, very reluctantly, he’d had to retreat, crawl back into his own head and hope that she can win through by herself, because clearly she is fighting now, fighting like she wasn’t fighting before and Charles has no idea what’s changed but he’s grateful that it _has_ changed. He wants to help her, but it’s too dangerous for him to be in her mind right now. All he can do is sit back, watch, wait and hope she wakes up.

She doesn’t wake up that evening.

She doesn’t wake up for another five days.

They move her to the CIA facility halfway through the second day.

Towards the end of the third day Moira succeeds in tracking down the woman’s identity. Her name is Courtney Stevens; she dropped out of high-school when she was 16 after she’d reported hearing voices in her head, six months after that she’d run away from her home just outside Philadelphia and made her way to New York. She’d managed to keep her head above water for a year or two before a series of arrests for petty theft and possession bear witness to a steady descent that ended with her overdosing in a near derelict basement.

It’s hardly a surprising story, considering where they found her, but maybe Charles is rubbing off on Erik because somewhat against his better judgement the German finds himself obscenely glad they found her when they did and what’s more, slightly regretful, maybe even guilty, that they didn’t get to her sooner.

Throughout the five days she’s unconscious, there’s always someone at Courtney’s bedside. Most of the time it’s Charles, who keeps trying to use his talents to pull her back to consciousness, but even genius telepaths need to sleep some time. So, when he’s gone Raven or Erik take over and sometimes Moira stops by for a bit… Or Dr Hank McCoy comes in and reads the notes written by the actual medical doctors who are tending Courtney… Or Alex Summers will hover in the doorway – not quite sure what to do with himself now that he’s out of prison. Erik and Charles’ other recruits have homes and families and things to sort out before they can pack up and leave for a secret CIA facility, but Alex… Alex has nowhere else to be. So, here he is hovering in the doorway looking into a room containing an apparently comatose young woman and a rather intimidating German mutant.

Erik is sat in the chair besides the hospital bed, flicking through a series of confidential CIA files with a frown on his face. The man hasn’t acknowledged his presence but Alex knows that the older man knows he’s there; the metal-bender is a soldier, a fighter – and a good one – he knows when someone enters a room. Apart from that titbit, that observation, the German is something of an enigma and Alex finds himself spending more time watching him than watching Courtney (who quite frankly looks no different to the last two times he dropped by). So, when he glances over at Courtney to find deep brown eyes staring at him over an oxygen mask, he has no idea how long she’s been awake for.

“Erik,” He croaks out the name after a moment of surprise. The man glances up at him and Alex nods towards the previously unconscious woman. Erik follows his gaze and sits up straighter as he notices she’s awake. The brown eyes on the hospital bed are groggy and unfocused but they crease into a frown when they come to rest on Erik. Then Alex feels a sharp pang of confusion and fear that he knows aren’t his own. Erik lays aside his papers and leans over to reassure Courtney.

“You’re among friends.”

It doesn’t have the desired effect. The undercurrent of emotion permeating the room spikes and grows into something quickly approaching panic as the woman’s eyes dart between Erik and Alex.

“Get Charles.” It’s an order, short and sharp, and Alex finds himself obeying without thinking, hurtling along the corridors to the sleeping quarters assigned to Charles Xavier.

He hasn’t even reached the door when it opens and a sleep-tousled Charles emerges, pulling on a robe over his sweatpants and t-shirt. “I know.” He says before Alex has a chance to even open his mouth and then he’s off down the corridor towards the infirmary and Alex has to run to keep up.

The moment Charles enters the room the rolling, seething, sea of emotion immediately vanishes and Alex finds himself letting out a small sigh of relief. Then he sees the frown on Charles Xavier’s face and the look of pure shock in the brown eyes on the bed as they stare at the telepath and Alex can’t help but wonder what the hell is going on…

Charles is wondering the same thing. The fear and confusion he understands - waking up in a strange place will do that to you – but why Courtney should react so strongly to Charles’ arrival is baffling... The sudden absence of emotion, after the swirling tempest that filled the room just moments ago, is disconcerting… almost as disconcerting as the voice that suddenly appears in his head, groggy but insistent…

_What date is it?_

He’s so surprised, he answers…  _9 th October 1962… _before the thought catches up with him that that is a slightly odd question for someone to ask immediately after waking up in an unfamiliar place – ‘where am I?’ is more traditional, or even ‘who are you?’

There’s a deafening mental silence for a long moment and then he catches the briefest… _shit…_ before mental walls slam up so quickly that Charles is left reeling at the sudden disappearance of her presence.

When he blinks and looks down at the hospital bed he sees that Courtney’s eyes have once again closed (though he’s not convinced she’s actually asleep). He frowns and then looks over at Erik who is sporting a raised eyebrow and a mildly perplexed expression.

“What the hell was that about?” The German asks.

“I’ve no idea.” Is the only reply Charles has.

  XXXXXX

The next week is an interesting experience for all of them.

Courtney drifts in and of consciousness for a day or two, but the doctors now consider her to be out of immediate danger, which is reassuring. What is less reassuring is the fact that during those two days, whenever Charles enters the infirmary, if she’s not actually unconscious, she’s feigning unconsciousness. Charles finds it easy enough to tell the difference between when she’s really asleep and when she’s faking, but what he finds much harder is persuading her to stop pretending.

He doesn’t know why she’s doing it, but she’s clearly avoiding him and Erik, at least as best she can considering she’s confined to a hospital bed. As for the rest of their merry band; she avoids anything more than the briefest contact with Hank and Raven, but seems to tolerate Moira and Alex, though she still hasn’t said a word to anyone apart from her doctor and the nurses looking after her. It’s all rather baffling.

It’s amazing what you get used to though; when Charles enters the infirmary to check on her, after an unsuccessful recruiting mission, he is genuinely surprised to find her awake.

Awake and on the floor vomiting.

Shock stalls him for a moment and then he’s down on the floor next to her, holding her hair back from her face as she throws up all over the floor. Pressing his hand against her forehead reveals the fact she’s sweating and shaking like mad, which has him no end of concerned. The mental message he sends out to her doctor is not panicked… not quite… But, he’s nonetheless relieved when moments later the doctor comes hurrying into the room.

“Ah,” The doctor says taking in the sight of the young woman vomiting up the sparse contents of her stomach. “I was wondering when that would start.”

“What?” Charles demands; shocked by how casual the doctor’s tone is.

“Withdrawal symptoms,” The doctor explains, as he presses a buzzer to summon the nurses. “We’ll get her on an IV drip and get her as comfortable as we can, but she’s going to have to wait the worst of it out I’m afraid.”

It turns out a telepath going through withdrawal symptoms in not a pleasant experience for anyone in the vicinity of said telepath. In fairness to her, Courtney does her best to keep her distress to herself and not project it all over the base, and she does a pretty good job of keeping the danger zone down to a mere 15 foot radius around her hospital bed. But, Charles is sure he could help her get it even smaller if she would just let him help her, but every time he goes anywhere near her mind she starts screaming in his head until he gets out.

Charles finds not being allowed to help frustrating. Erik finds it amusing.

“Really Charles, you can’t blame someone for not wanting you in their head.”

“But I could help her!” Charles insists pausing in his pacing long enough to move his castle across the chessboard they’ve set up in Charles’ quarters.

“Yes, but you could also hurt her.” Erik leans across the papers he’s reading and moves his knight to take one of Charles’ pawns.

Charles is unsurprisingly outraged by that insinuation. “I would never…”

Erik interrupts with a placating gesture. “I know that and you know that, but she doesn’t.” It’s frustrating, Charles claims to have experienced Erik’s pain, seen the things Erik has lived through, but he still doesn’t _understand.._. “Not everyone is like you Charles. The world is full of people ready to hurt you if you give them a chance; often it’s prudent to assume the worst of people’s intentions.”

The knowing look Charles gives him at that point makes it clear that he knows Erik isn’t just talking about Courtney. The telepath finally stops pacing and sits down across the chessboard from Erik.

“What did you think my intentions were when I jumped in after you in Miami?” He asks while studying the chessboard in front of them.

“I thought you were a mad man who had nothing better to do with his time.” It’s a flippant, dismissive answer to a serious question, but Charles lets it slide; he’s learnt when not to push Erik.

“And now?” Charles asks, moving his queen. He smiles, already anticipating Erik’s reply.

“I still think you’re a mad man with nothing better to do.” Erik says, with a smile that says he knows it is exactly what Charles expected him to say, but really if the telepath is going to give him an opening like that, what else does he expect?

The gentle banter eases the tension in Charles’ shoulders, and they settle down to finish their chess game in companionable silence.

  XXXXXX

They don’t make it to the end of the game.

Charles is about five moves away from having Erik in checkmate (at least that’s what Charles thinks…) when they’re interrupted by Raven knocking on the door to tell them that the rest of their recruits have arrived. She’s bouncing on her heels with excitement at the chance to meet more people like them. It’s a feeling Charles understands all too well, he feels it every time he puts on Cerebro, that giddy feeling of belonging, of being a part of something bigger than himself. Erik looks tolerantly amused at their excitement, but Charles knows the German shares their joy, their relief, at finding other like them… at not being alone.

Alex is waiting with the other new recruits in the building’s atrium. They stand in a small huddle, rucksacks and suitcases lying on the floor beside them as CIA agents bustle about their business. Charles may be imagining things, but there seem to be more people around than usual, and certainly more people pausing in their passage through the atrium –but then curiosity is a natural human vice.

“Moira and Agent Babish have a meeting with Director McCone.” Alex informs the two older men as they approach. The two agents had stopped briefly on their way to the meeting, to greet the new recruits.

Erik and Charles exchange a look, wondering what that is about; there’s been a lot of chatter recently about Shaw and the Russians. A meeting with the director of the CIA suggests something big has come up. Charles is sure that if that is the case then Moira will let them know when she gets back. For now, they have a bunch of wide eyed new recruits to show around.

They start the tour with the quarters that have been set aside for the mutants (so everyone can drop off their luggage). Then, Raven insists they go and find Hank so they can introduce him to the new recruits. Her smile is enough to tear him away from whatever project he is currently working on and he accompanies them on the rest of the tour.

Charles isn’t imagining the way agents stop and stare as the group passes them in the corridor; the whispers that follow them around the building. There’s been a certain amount of it ever since they arrived – their mutations are infinitely interesting to those without powers. Still, Charles can sense the discomfort the whispers are causing the young mutants, especially Angel. So, part way through the tour Charles starts using his power to nudge people on their way, or else not notice the mutants as they walk past. After the third agent passes them by without even glancing at them Erik gives him a look which says he knows exactly what the telepath is doing. Charles can’t work out whether his friend approves or disapproves though –sometimes the German is completely unreadable, even for someone with Charles’s powers.

Hank is enthusiastically explaining how Cerebro works when Charles leans over to Erik to inform him quietly that; “Moira’s back.”

The German turns to him, his body suddenly tensed like a coiled spring. “Have they found him?” He asks just as quietly –the kids don’t need to hear this yet.

“I think so,” Charles frowns slightly. “She wants to speak to both of us straight away. Raven,” he leans over to his sister, who is stood on his other side watching Hank talk with the intensity of a young woman contemplating developing a full blown crush. “Would you mind finishing off the tour? Erik and I need to speak to Moira.”

Raven gives them a quizzical look which turns into a slight pout when they don’t elaborate, but she nods. “Sure. I’ll take them to meet Courtney.”

Charles frowns, not sure that’s necessarily the best idea. Cocking his head to one side he reaches his mind out towards Courtney. He winces at her mental reply. “She’d rather you didn’t.” He tells Raven who snorts at the look of discomfort on Charles’s face.

“She needs to stop sulking.” Raven says firmly. “It’ll do her good to meet other people like us.”

Charles sighs and reaches up a hand to rub his forehead – when Raven gets an idea into her head she can be irritatingly stubborn about it. “She nearly died less than two weeks ago and has spent most of the last week throwing up – she’s hardly sulking!”

Raven just gives him a look. Charles makes one last attempt to dissuade her. “Please Raven; don’t push her until she’s ready.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be talking with Moira?” She asks sweetly, completely ignoring Charles’ appeal. He gives up. Courtney is quite capable of kicking Raven out of her hospital room if she wants to; she’s driven Charles out of her mind enough times to prove that.

When Erik and Charles have left to find Moira, and Hank has finished his long winded explanation of Cerebro, Raven bounds forward and beams at the new recruits. “Almost done," she assures them. “We’ll just visit Courtney, and then we'll show you the den!" She ignores the frowns that appear on Alex and Hank's faces. They've all been avoiding Courtney for days, and with good reason -at the moment the telepath is projecting her discomfort (both mental and physical) to everyone in her immediate vicinity. But, according to Courtney’s doctor (who has been braving Courtney's second hand pain on a regular basis) her symptoms are tailing off now and she should be through the worst of it in the next day or so.

Anyway, Raven isn't convinced that Courtney hasn't been deliberately projecting to keep the rest of them away -the woman has been avoiding the other mutants ever since she woke up, and Raven has had enough of it.

“This is the infirmary." Raven says leading them all down the corridor towards the room where Courtney is currently bed bound. The normal telepathic storm is little more than a light drizzle at the moment - Courtney must be improving. Still, it's disconcerting if you're not used to it.

“What is that?" Darwin asks rubbing the back of his neck, trying to dispel the uncomfortable feeling of Courtney’s mental storm; like a pressure headache the telepathic weather can cause the feeling of physical discomfort.

“Courtney is a telepath." Hank explains. “She’s not been feeling well, and she tends to project her discomfort. She doesn't mean to, but sometimes she can't help it."

Raven snorts. “Charles could help her if she would just let him into her head!" She says dismissively as they reach the open door to Courtney's room.

“It’s my head. I can choose who I let in it."

Raven starts; those are the first words she's heard Courtney speak aloud. The telepath is sat up on the hospital bed, cross legged and looking like death warmed up - which quite frankly is better than she's looked for most of the last two weeks.

“You’re feeling better then?" Alex observes with a slight hint of surprise in his voice.

Courtney just glares at them.

“What are you doing here?" She asks bluntly.

“We wanted to introduce you to the rest of our new mutant team." Raven says sweetly, ignoring the unpleasant looks Courtney is giving her. “Courtney, this is Darwin, and Angel, and Sean. Everyone, this is Courtney!"

"Hello." Courtney says with a half-hearted wave and no smile.

She turns to Raven. “Right, you’ve introduced me. Now, would you mind sodding off so I can finish vomiting my guts up in peace?"

Raven considers even that terse conversation to be a victory - it certainly more than either Erik or Charles have got out of the reticent young woman.

To make up for the somewhat grumpy conversation with Courtney, Raven takes the new recruits to the room Alex and her have affectionately nicknamed ‘The Den’. Agent Babish had suggested they set up somewhere for the young mutants to feel comfortable during their stay in the CIA base. Moira had handed the task of kitting out the room to Alex and Raven, only vetoing their more extreme ideas (apparently the CIA budget doesn't stretch to a top-of-the-range Wirlitzer jukebox, though they did manage to wrangle the pinball machine…)

Exclamations of “Wow!” and “Cool!” accompany their arrival at the den, and Raven shares as smug look with Alex as she suggests that they all grab a drink and take a seat.

“So,” Raven says after a few moments of awkward silence. “We should think of codenames. We’re government agents now; we should have secret codenames…”

  XXXXXX

“The plane leaves for Russia in an hour.” Moira finishes as they turn the corner.

“I’m telling you, these kids are not ready for Shaw.” Erik insists.

“I think they’re going to surprise you. They’re an exceptional bunch of young people.” Erik isn’t sure whether Charles is seriously over-estimating the capability of these kids, or seriously under-estimating Shaw. Both are equally dangerous and liable to get one of them killed.

They turn another corner and enter the courtyard to find a headless, smoking, statue and the grass covered in broken glass. Exceptional young people indeed…

“What the Hell…” Moira exclaims.

As they cross the courtyard, Charles’ ‘exceptional young people’ come into view, dancing and laughing amongst the debris. Erik feels a pang of relief at the sight; at least now Charles won’t insist on taking such woefully unprepared children into battle against Shaw.

“What are you doing?” Moira demands in a tone as authoritative as any drill sergeant. The kids turn to look at her, their faces taking on expressions in various shades of guilt. “Who destroyed the statute?”

“It was Alex.”

“No, Havoc… we have to call him Havoc now!” Raven insists, “And, we were thinking, you should be Professor X,” she points at her brother before turning to Erik, “And you, you should be Magneto!”

“Exceptional…” Erik says before turning to leave. There really is nothing else to say. Moira follows him and Charles is only a few paces behind.

“I expect more from you.” Charles’ disappointment cuts through Raven’s smile.

Erik doesn’t say ‘I told you so’ as they head towards the plane that will take them to Russia, that would just be cruel. But, he can’t help thinking, as they strap themselves in, that there are worse codenames than Magneto…


	5. Chapter 5

It’s on the flight back from Russia, with Miss Frost safely contained in the plane’s hold, that Moira finds out about the attack on the CIA facility. She feels the bottom drop out of her stomach as the news is relayed to her over the radio. Then, she yells Charles’ name as loudly as she can in her head, hoping the telepath will pick it up.

Moments later Charles’ head pops around the door to the cockpit. “What’s the problem?” He asks, worried by the urgency in Moira’s mental shout.

“Shaw attacked the base while we were gone.”

“What?” Erik demands; appearing from behind Charles.

“Is Raven alright?” Charles’ normally calm voice is strained with barely suppressed panic.

“I’m sorry,” Moira says helplessly. “I’m only just getting this. They don’t have much information yet.”

Charles leans against the side of the cockpit, closes his eyes and presses his fingers against his forehead. Erik reaches over to stabilise him as the plane rocks through some turbulence. The minutes stretch by as Moira and Erik watch and wait in anxious anticipation.

“Darwin’s dead.”

The words drop into the silence of the cockpit.

“Angel has gone with Shaw.” Charles opens his eyes. “The rest are alright.”

There’s a long heavy silence in response to that news, broken only by the creaking of metal.

“Erik, that’s not helping.” Charles says quietly and the creaking stops. Erik blinks and unclenches his fists.

“We should never have dragged them into this.” The German’s voice is tight with fury and grief. For all that he pretends to be unfeeling; Erik considers himself as responsible for those young mutants as Charles does.

“No, we shouldn’t have.” Charles agrees. “Moira, I need you to arrange transport for them to be taken home as soon as possible.”

  XXXXXX

When they arrive at the ruins of the CIA base the first thing Charles does is embrace his sister; to reassure himself that she’s alive and well, if a little shaken.

“We’ve made arrangements for you to be taken home immediately.” Charles informs them - Moira had spent the rest of the flight pulling strings; making calls to McCone and anyone else she needed to, to make sure they can be taken back home as quickly and safely as possible.

“We’re not going home.” Sean says firmly.

“What?” Charles asks, surprised by the determination in Sean’s voice. Erik is not.

“He’s not going back to prison.” Sean adds nodding towards Alex.

“He killed Darwin.” Alex says, as if that one statement explains everything: maybe it does.

“All the more reason for you to leave. This is over.” Why is it only now that Charles realises how dangerous this fight against Shaw is? Erik did try to warn him…

“Darwin’s dead, Charles. And we can’t even bury him.” Charles finds it harder to answer the grief in his sister’s voice. Erik speaks before he has a chance to form a reply.

“We can avenge him.” They all turn to look at the metal-bender.

“Erik, a word, please.”

As Charles takes him aside Erik notes, ironically, how in the space of 48 hours they’ve managed to switch sides in this argument.

“They’re just kids.” Which was Erik’s argument against taking them to Russia... But, childhood is the land where nobody dies and when they saw Darwin killed these young people left that land.

“No. They were kids.” Erik tells him. “Shaw has his army. We need ours.”

Charles turns back to look at the four expectant faces watching him and Erik. “We’ll have to train.” He says, reluctantly conceding to Erik’s argument and the pleading in those faces.  “All of us. Yes?”

“Yeah.” Alex answers for all of them.

“Well, we can’t stay here.” Hank points out. “Even if they reopen the department, it’s not safe. We’ve got nowhere to go.”

“Yes, we do.” Charles says. Erik raises a curious eyebrow, while Raven’s face breaks into a genuine smile as she realises what her brother means.

“Moira, could you requisition us some transport, please?” Now that Charles has made the decision to train the children, he knows that there isn’t any time to waste: they’re going to be hard-pressed as it is. “If anyone has anything they need to take with them, they’d better get it now, the sooner we get going the better.”

Charles is about to start issuing more instructions when Erik speaks up – he’s just noticed something.  “Where’s Courtney?”

  XXXXXX

Charles and Erik make their way through the ruins of the CIA facility towards the part of the complex where the infirmary used to be. Most of the bodies have been removed by now, but there’s still a few visible, buried under rubble that hasn’t been cleared yet. Soldiers and CIA agents swarm all over the place but none of them do anything to stop the mutants’ progress across the base; whether that’s because they all know who Erik and Charles are, or because Charles is using his powers to stop people asking them irritating questions, Erik couldn’t say.

The corridor where the infirmary used to be is relatively undamaged and completely deserted. They pick their way across the rubble and make their way past another body that hasn’t been moved yet. As they approach they can see that the door to the infirmary is ajar. Erik reaches it first and steps through into the dimly lit room. He hasn’t even taken half a step into the room when he turns around and announces, “She’s not here.”

“Really?” Charles asks with an expression somewhere between a frown and a smile. “You haven’t even looked yet.”

Erik frowns and turns back to look into the infirmary again. Charles joins him in the doorway, and the two mutants survey the room. Sunlight filters in through the dust covered windows, lending an almost serene quality to the room. At first glance it does indeed appear that Courtney isn’t here; the bed is empty, medical equipment is strewn across the floor and several machines appear to have been broken. Charles’ instinct is to walk away and search somewhere else… Except, he’s not sure it is his instinct… The desire to walk away, to be somewhere else, is just too strong to be natural…

_Courtney, it’s me, Charles. You’re safe now. They’ve gone._

At first nothing happens, but he repeats his telepathic reassurances and this time sends out mental waves of _calm_ and _safe._

After a moment his eyes are drawn towards the far corner of the room, to an over turned gurney. He steps carefully across the room, leaving a bemused Erik standing in the doorway. Carefully, he moves aside the gurney to reveal three terrified faces: Courtney, her doctor and one of the nurses.

There are tears pouring down Courtney’s face and she’s trembling so hard she’s having trouble breathing. Charles kneels down in front of them. “It’s alright, they’ve gone now.” The telepath’s quiet words seem to break the tension in the room. Both the doctor and the nurse give a little sigh of relief. Courtney’s trembling increases and her silent tears become gasping sobs as the earlier tension drains out of her. The nurse curls a protective hand over Courtney’s brow and Charles realises that the woman is cradling Courtney against her chest, has been all along.

 The doctor stands and starts searching the wreckage of the infirmary for something. After a moment he finds a vial and syringe. A movement from Erik in the doorway draws all their attention.

The doctor correctly interprets the gesture. “It’s just a sedative.” He assures the mutant. Erik doesn’t look convinced. “She saved my life: I’m not going to hurt her.”

“It’s fine Erik.” Charles’s reassurance carries more weight than the doctor’s; after a moment Erik gives the briefest of half nods and the doctor continues his journey back across the room towards the two women. He administers the sedative in silence and a few moments later Courtney’s trembling starts to subside, and her breathing even out.

“Thank you.” Charles says to the doctor who nods briefly, without taking his eyes off his patient –it’s the least he can do.

In the near silent infirmary the sound of Erik’s footsteps, as he crosses the room, echo loudly. As he bends down to pick up the now unconscious Courtney the doctor asks, “Where are you taking her?”

“Somewhere safe,” is Charles’s only reply and after a long look the doctor accepts his answer with a brief nod.

Erik straightens up, his arms full of skinny, undernourished, mutant. As they turn to leave the nurse speaks up for the first time. “She can read minds...” Charles isn’t sure whether it is a question or a statement.

“Yes.”

The nurse nods. “How many people died in the attack?”

“I don’t know.”

“She does,” the nurse says indicating the unconscious woman. “She felt every death.”

Charles and Erik share a look over Courtney’s unconscious head. “We’ll look after her.” Charles assures them.

“You’d better.” The nurse replies, “or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  XXXXXX

When Charles and Erik emerge from the ruins of the CIA facility, carrying Courtney’s limp form, Moira’s first thought is; ‘Oh God, not her too.’

She hurries over to meet them. Raven and the other mutants beat her there, and as Moira approaches she hears Charles reassure everyone: “Courtney’s fine, she’s just sedated.” One of the many knots in Moira’s stomach unfurls at those words – they’ve lost too many people already today. Erik carries Courtney and Charles explains where the found the telepath, about the doctor and nurse she saved from Shaw’s mutants, as Moira shepherds everyone towards the jeep she’s manages to commandeer for their journey to wherever it is that Charles is planning on taking them.

It’s a long journey. Though, it feels much longer than it actually is.

Erik drives and Charles sits up front with him to navigate. Moira, on the other hand, sits in the back with the children (who aren’t really children anymore). Raven takes a seat on the floor, with Courtney’s sleeping head cushioned in her lap. Moira sits on the floor besides them, to keep an eye on the sleeping woman’s pulse. The boys perch on the benches running along each side of the vehicle, staring at their hands… or the floor… or at the crates of equipment Hank insisted they couldn’t leave without… anywhere other than at each other.

They travel in silence for the most part, all of them lost in their own thoughts. Even the normally talkative Raven is quiet; she sits and stares at nothing, like the rest of them. Courtney sleeps for the entire journey, and as she watches the mutant’s breath ease steadily in and out, Moira almost envies her: she seems peaceful for the first time since Charles and Erik brought her in. Whatever the doctor gave her, it’s knocked her out completely – there’s not even a hint of telepathic weather being projected by her subconscious.

Moira wishes her own thoughts would be as still as Courtney’s appear to be. Her mind is racing, swirling with worries and plans and fears… the Russians… the CIA… Shaw… all facing off against each other, bringing the world to the edge of nuclear war. And then there’s this little band of mutants; most of them are so young. And, those that aren’t… well, Charles is so, so, optimistic, unreasonably so at times… and Erik… Erik is so unpredictable… the way he ran off by himself in Russia, and the way Charles ran after him… Well, it’s not exactly the sort of behaviour that fills Moira with confidence in the likely success of their little team…

  XXXXXX

When Charles directs Erik to turn into the gates to the Xavier Mansion, the German’s eyebrows go through the roof. The huge iron gates are locked and, as Charles hops out of the jeep to unlock them, Erik finds himself going over everything he knows about his friend, every conversation they’ve ever had, and trying to work out how the fact that the Xaviers are wealthy enough to own a place with gates like this never came up!

When Charles gets back in the car (after Erik has driven through the gates and Charles has locked them behind him) he avoids meeting Erik’s eyes. Erik looks at him for a long moment, leaning over the steering wheel and staring at him with disbelief and amusement and sheer surprise that the unassuming young professor had been hiding something this big. Yes, Erik had known that Charles came from a privileged background, but he hadn’t realised it was _this_ privileged!

“Are you planning on just sitting there all evening?” Charles asks after a moment in a voice that pretends to be polite and amused but has more than a hint of tetchy around the edges. Erik gives an amused snort and starts the vehicle up the long, curving, driveway.

When the mansion finally comes into view Erik can’t help the short, surprised, burst of laughter that escapes him. “Bloody hell, Charles!” The German mutters. Charles half-smiles in embarrassment and gives an awkward shrug – he’s clearly not comfortable with the ostentatious display of brick and glass standing in front of them.

The exclamations of surprise from the others, as they emerge from the jeep and see the mansion for the first time, only serve to heighten Charles’ discomfort. Though, he does a good job of hiding it – Erik wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

Awed silence descends on the group as they cluster together and stare up at the grand colossus of a building.

“This is yours?” Sean asks for all of them.

“No, it’s ours.” Charles says, quietly but firmly, as if underlining the past and declaring this a new chapter in the building’s history.

“Honestly, Charles. I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship.” The dry sarcasm in Erik’s voice draws out another half embarrassed smile onto Charles face, the rest of which still looks more than a little uncomfortable

“Well, it was a hardship softened by me.” Raven steps forward and slips her arm around her brother’s waist. Charles presses a grateful kiss into her hair and then turns back to look at their childhood home.  “Come on.” Raven takes a deep breath. “Time for the tour!”

  XXXXXX

Before they start the tour, they settle the still unconscious Courtney in one of the second floor bedrooms. Erik carries her inside and up the stairs, and then Moira and Raven change her into an old pair of Raven’s pyjamas before tucking her into the ornate double bed. They leave a glass of water and a spare set of clothes that Moira remembered to grab from the CIA base before they left by the side of the bed for when she wakes up. Charles will keep a mental eye on her as they wander around the house – when she wakes up he’ll know about it.

Raven leads them around the mansion, enthusiastically elaborating the tour with tales and anecdotes from their childhood – the good times anyway. If she’s a little louder than usual, a little more boisterous, then maybe it’s to keep everyone’s attention on her and not on Charles.  And, Charles is grateful, glad she’s taking centre-stage right now, because it makes it easier to hide his unease at being back in this place. There are far too many memories here, not all of them bad – far from it – but there are enough, enough that he’s been happy to avoid this place for years. Now though… well, now he hopes they can make some new memories for this place, better memories, maybe enough to drown out some of the old ones…

Once the tour finishes they find themselves in the kitchen, with the realisation that the only food they have on hand are the army rations Moira managed to pillage before they left the base, and the contents of a larder that hasn’t been replenished in the better part of a decade. Charles puts in a phone call to the local milkman, and arranges for fresh supplies to be delivered in the morning, but that won’t help them this evening…

It’s going to be an interesting dinner.

Still, Erik can say with certainty that whatever they manage to pull together it will be better than some of the things he’s eaten in his lifetime. He keeps that thought to himself though; whenever he says something like that, some offhand remark that could refer to his time in the camps; there’s this look that appears on Charles’ face. It’s a look that’s a little too close to pity for Erik’s comfort, but not actually close enough to it for Erik to get angry at his friend.

He’s never really had the time or the inclination to learn how to cook anything more than a few basics (and in all honesty the whole idea of cooking reminds him too much of his mother), so Erik takes a back seat to the culinary proceedings. He pulls up a chair at the heavy wooden table and sits and watches the barely organised chaos of five mutants and a CIA agent trying to scrounge up a meal from a few tin cans and a selection of herbs that are so old they look like they were dried in prehistory.

It makes for entertaining viewing, as people dart backwards and forwards across the room. Their efforts are clearly hampered by the classic problem of too many chefs, and the periodic wooden spoon fights that break out between Raven and Alex and Sean, yet somehow, against the odds, they seem to be making progress. The haphazard domesticity of it all is rather charming, but also vaguely terrifying to a man, like Erik, who can barely remember what having a family feels like.

Maybe it’s that uncharacteristic pang of nostalgia that draws Charles attention to Erik: to the fact he’s not been helping with the cooking, which is apparently something approaching a cardinal sin. “If you’re not going to help cook, you could at least set the table!”

Erik smirks and with a wave of his hand opens a drawer at the other end of the kitchen and starts levitating cutlery across the room.  Charles rolls his eyes, while the children laugh in delight at the flying cutlery. “You’re not going to be able to manage the crockery like that.” The telepath points out somewhat smugly.

“Maybe Courtney could help with the crockery.” Moira says pointedly, and Erik almost drops the cutlery in surprise as they all turn to see Courtney standing in the doorway, looking rather uncomfortable at the sudden attention. The t-shirt and sweatpants that Raven leant her swamp her skinny frame (and Raven’s not exactly what you would call large) and her long brown hair is still rather unkempt, though she’s clearly made an attempt to ease out the worst of the tangles. But, what strikes Erik the most are her eyes: they look more awake, more alert than he’s seen them before.

Courtney shifts uneasily and stuffs her hands in her trouser pockets. “Where are the plates?” She asks quietly, when nobody seems inclined to stop staring at her. Erik and Moira frown slightly, but nobody else notices anything odd. Raven just points at one of the cupboards; “In there,” she says “glasses are two cupboards over.” And, then everyone goes back to what they were doing before. Everyone, except Erik and Moira, who do go back to what they were doing, but also continue to watch Courtney out of the corners of their eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later they all sit down at the table with something that looks almost, but not quite, edible. It’s been too long a day to be fussy though, and thankfully it does actually taste better than it looks, though it’s a long way from gourmet cooking. Still, good company can make up for a lot, and as the conversation rolls on about anything and everything (apart from what happened with Shaw at the CIA base or what happened in Russia with Miss Frost), Erik finds himself relaxing just a little, enjoying the company of other people like him.

  XXXXXX

“This is quite the place you have here, Charles.” Erik says later that evening as the young Xavier shows him into a lavishly decorated study.

Charles makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat as he starts throwing back dust covers to reveal a pair of richly upholstered couches and a matching set of chairs.

“I would have thought you would be happy to be back in your family home.” Erik is prying, he knows he is, but Charles has been unusually reticent ever since he first suggested coming here.

“Aside from Raven it wasn’t much of a family.”  Ah… there’s a whole volume in that quiet confession. But, Erik doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything, because Charles has always respected Erik’s privacy, his need not to talk about some things, and the least Erik can do now is return the favour. If Charles wants to talk about it he will.

“Why don’t you start laying out the board?” Charles suggests gesturing towards an elegantly carved chess set. “And I’ll get us some drinks.” The way he looks at Erik as he says it, jaw stubbornly set and eyes defiant and defensive, makes it clear that they won’t be continuing this discussion about his family.

Erik isn’t sure whether he’s more surprised or disappointed that Charles doesn’t want to confide in him. He knows he shouldn’t feel either – every man is entitled to his secrets – but nonetheless there’s a small unpleasant feeling in his gut and for a moment Erik wonders whether their friendship isn’t defined as much by the things they don’t say, as the things they do.

He lays out the chess pieces as Charles pours their drinks and then they both sit down and start playing, all in silence.

Sometimes silence speaks louder than words.

About ten minutes into the game there’s a knock on the door and they both look up to find Moira standing in the doorway with a preoccupied look on her face and a sheaf of CIA files in one hand.

“May I come in?” She asks.

“Of course,” Charles smiles at her and waves at the unoccupied couch. “Would you like a drink?” He adds holding up his own glass.

“No, thank you.” She declines his offer of a drink as she takes a seat on the couch.

“Is there a problem?” Erik frowns at her tense body language.

“Have either of you noticed anything odd about Courtney?” She asks cautiously, placing the files she’s been holding down on the couch beside her.

“What do you mean “odd”?” Charles puts down his glass with a small frown.

“You mean aside from her accent?” Erik asks.

“Yes.” Moira is glad she isn’t the only one who noticed that.

“Excuse me, what about her accent?” Charles’ apparently didn’t notice. But then, he has spent most of the last decade in Oxford; maybe it isn’t so surprising that he hasn’t spotted it.

“She wasn’t wearing any metal earlier this evening…” Erik says thoughtfully. Moira frowns at that piece of information. Charles just scoffs.

“Come on Erik, that can’t be that unusual…”

“Watch strap. Zip. Belt buckle. ” He rattles off the list of metal items Charles is currently wearing, tugging each one, with his power, to emphasise his point.

“She doesn’t own a watch. The trousers didn’t have a zip and she choose not to wear a belt. What’s so odd about that?” Charles’ explanations would seem reasonable if Erik’s instincts weren’t screaming that it’s more than that, and besides…

“That wasn’t the only thing she choose not to wear…” Erik comments dryly.

“I’m sorry?” Charles asks, confused.

Erik resists the urge to smile at Charles’ confusion. “How many bra clips have you undone in your time Charles?” He says, without looking at Moira.

“Oh,” Charles blushes slightly as comprehension dawns; there are bras clips and suspender fastenings and underwire that few women go without in this day and age - all made of metal. He also, pointedly, doesn’t look at Moira. “That’s a little more unusual I’ll admit, but I don’t see why…”

“Charles,” Moira interrupts, suddenly uncomfortably aware of all the metal _she’s_ currently wearing. “Courtney Stevens has never applied for a passport.”

That gets a reaction from Erik who sits up straighter in his chair and then leans forward to listen more intently to what Moira has to say.

“I’m sorry; but I still don’t understand what you’re suggesting.” Charles says glancing between Erik and Moira.

“I don’t know what I’m suggesting.”  Moira replies. “But, don’t you think it’s little odd that someone who has never even applied for a passport speaks with a British accent?”


	6. Chapter 6

_Miss Stevens would you join us in the study please._

She sighs and rubs her forehead as Xavier’s mental voice echoes in her head. She’d wondered when they would realise that something was wrong; honestly she’s a little surprised it’s taken them this long… But, she’s not _ready_ for this, not yet… which apparently is tough shit because she’s going to _have_ to deal with it now… there is no way they ‘re going to let this, whatever it is they’ve noticed, go without an explanation; the steel in Charles’ mental voice was enough to assure her of that.

She gives another sigh and pushes herself off the bed. That simple act takes more effort than it should; her body is still weak from her near death experience and the strains of heroin withdrawal. She feels like an old woman as she makes her way carefully to the door and out into the corridor. Everything aches, all her muscles feel like they’re made of water and it’s an effort to control the shaking that still periodically wracks her body. But, somehow, she makes it down to the study only having to pause once on her way down the stairs.

She pauses again, outside the study, and draws in a deep breath to compose herself before reaching out to turn the door handle. Her fingers haven’t even brushed the metal though when the handle turns by itself and the door swings open of its own accord. The Bastard…

That smug reminder of just what Erik Lehnsherr is capable of sets her nerves on edge.

All three of them are watching the door as she enters. So she is immediately hit with the full force of their gazes; Erik is suspicious and vaguely hostile. Moira is tense; guarded but currently withholding judgement until she has more information and Charles; well, Charles is looking a bit like a puppy that’s just discovered that not all the other dogs are as nice as him, or want to play the game his way. 

She resists the urge to sigh. Without even asking she walks across the room and takes a seat on the empty couch, opposite the three of them.

“Is there a problem?” She asks sitting back and crossing her legs in front of her. She looks at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes directly – she will not act as if she has done something wrong, as if she has something to hide.

They exchange a look, put off - she suspects - by her boldness, her appearance of self-assurance and confidence.

It’s Charles who speaks. She’s not surprised they’ve elected him their spokesperson, their interrogator. “While you were unconscious we tried to find out a bit about, your name, who you were, a little about your history…”

“Yes.” It’s a flat statement of acknowledgment, she’s not surprised or upset; she just wants them to get to the point.

Charles glances briefly at Moira and Erik before continuing. “In the process we came across a few discrepancies we’d like you to clarify for us...”

“What sort of discrepancies?”

Charles frowns, looking for the tactful way to phrase their concerns, when Erik just goes ahead and jumps right in.  “For example, would you like to explain to us why Courtney Stevens, who has never even applied for a passport, let alone left the country, has a British accent?” Erik watches her intently, waiting for her reaction.

“Because, I’m not Courtney Stevens.” The blunt way she says it, with no attempt at pretending or preamble, surprises all of them.

“I’m sorry?” Charles blusters. “Then who are you? A shape shifter like Raven?”

“No. This is Courtney’s body.” She’s so calm, Charles’ finds it unnerving.

“You stole her body? How? Why?” The questions tumble out one after another. Charles’ quick glance over at Moira and Erik confirms that they’re as confused as he is.

“Stole implies depriving somebody of something. Courtney was already dead when I entered this body.”

“Did you kill her?” Erik drops the question into the conversation like an accusation.

“No, she was dying anyway.” She turns to look at Charles. “You know that Professor, you felt her fade away.”

Moira and Erik both look at Charles, who nods slowly – that would explain what he felt when he was in Courtney’s head, that first day after they found her; the way he’d felt her slip away and then come back... well he’d assumed it was her… but she’d felt so different… if this woman is telling the truth, if it was her and not Courtney who he’d felt after Courtney had slipped away, well that would make sense… if it wasn’t so hard to believe… but then again telepathy and being able to move metal with your mind are pretty hard things to believe until you’ve seen them yourself… and Charles can pick up no sign with his telepathy that she is lying…

“Very well,” Charles chooses to accept her explanation, for now. “Who are you then if you’re not Courtney Stevens? And what are you doing in Miss Stevens’ body?”

“My name is Natalie Walker. And as for why I’m here, well, I’m here because you put me here Professor.”

2019

Seventeen days it takes her to find them.

Seventeen days, and they don’t even look surprised to see her, the bastards. In fact, they look like they’ve been expecting her. So, she decides to cut the crap and get straight to the point.

“How does it work?”

“How does what work, Natalie?” The Professor asks with infuriating patience.

“Your plan to go back and change the past. How does it work?”

The two men share a look and Natalie just wants to scream at them. “Why do you want to know?” The Professor asks carefully.

“Why do you think?” Natalie snaps, she’s stressed and exhausted and she doesn’t want to stop and think about what she’s doing or she might change her mind. Changing the past is a drastic, irreversible course of action, and back in that cabin Natalie hadn’t believed there was any situation under which she would condone something so extreme. But, David is dead, half her students are dead, she hasn’t heard anything from her family in months – chances are they’re dead as well – she doesn’t have much left to lose.

“We can send someone’s consciousness back in time to their previous body.” The Professor explains as calmly as if he was merely describing the weather. “The person themselves does not physically travel through time, just their consciousness.”

“So it has to be someone who was alive back then.” She concludes and feels her shoulders slump as the Professor nods.

“Yes, we were going to ask Logan.”

“There’s no other way?”

The two men share another look; a look that encases an entire conversation, but she’s too wrapped up in her own despair to notice. “Well,” The Professor says, slowly, reluctantly. “There is one other option, but it would have to be a telepath or an empath, and they would have to go back to a very specific point.”

“What do you mean?” Her head snaps up. “You _could_ send me back?”

“Possibly,” The Professor says the word carefully, as if trying not to get her hopes up… hers or maybe his... “There was a telepath, called Courtney Stevens; she died not long after I met her. She could have survived, but by that point she had given up on life. In theory, we could insert your consciousness into her body in the moment after she dies. It would be difficult and unpleasant, but with another telepath or an empath; someone whose mind is wired in a similar way, it should be possible.”

Natalie frowns at his explanation; she doesn’t remember Courtney’s death from her time trawling through the Professor’s past. But then again her memories of her time in the cabin are still a little fuzzy.

“And this point, the point where she died, it’s after Cuba?” Even through the haze of grief, she remembers that that’s important; it’s the line in the sand she drew back in that cabin in the woods, and she’ll hold onto it now because she has to hold on to something or she’ll lose herself completely.

The two men share another long look and then the Professor inclines his head ever so slightly to Magneto who turns to Natalie and says very firmly, “Yes, it’s after Cuba.”

It’s only when she wakes up in a hospital bed to find Erik Lehnsherr and Alex Summers both standing over her that she starts to suspect they lied to her.

When she sees Charles Xavier walk into the room without a wheelchair she _knows_ they lied to her.

1962

“Excuse me, I put you there?” Years ago, when she still had a sense of humour – before it was buried under so much death and destruction - Natalie would have found the baffled look on Charles’ face amusingly adorable. Now, she’s too tired, too beaten down, to be anything other than vaguely annoyed by the necessity of explaining herself.

“Yes,” She says shortly, “though you said you were sending me back to after Cuba…” And that thought is enough to bring up much stronger feelings than mere annoyance; anger, frustration, fear… they lied to her! Lied right to her face, and…

“I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow...” Charles has still got that confused look on his face; and Lehnsherr and Agent McTaggart are sporting their own expressions in various shades of baffled.

“I’m not surprised you don’t follow, I’ve not exactly explained yet.” The heavy sarcasm raises several eyebrows. “Sorry,” She apologises grudgingly, “it’s been a trying few weeks.” And isn’t that just the understatement of the century… or next century… or whatever… She’s so far beyond her last straw that she’s surprised she’s not currently a gibbering wreck on the floor. Then again, maybe she is, maybe this is all some massive hallucination because after everything she said, all the warnings and arguments she gave; she cannot believe that those two cunning old men could have been so _stupid_ as to send her back to before Cuba!

“So how are you here? Why are you here?” The questions fall out, one after another, and Natalie can’t help it she just sighs. It’s not exactly a loud sigh, but it’s deep and so, so tired – it silences Charles’ questions. It silences the whole room. They just sit and watch her as she rubs her forehead tiredly. As she tries to compose herself and work out where the hell to start…

“Fifty years from now the world is going to go to hell.” The quiet words sound loud in the silence. “They set out to kill us, all of us, and any human who tried to help us. They claimed they were after peace, freedom from the mutant threat: just pretty words for an attempt at genocide. But not all of humanity agreed with them. They split the world in two trying to destroy us; any human who opposed their policy of mutant annihilation was dubbed a collaborator and suffered the same fate as us mutants – extinction. They would burn entire cities to the ground just to get at a few of us….

“I shouldn’t have survived for as long as I did. My powers don’t work against their machines, only people. But, I was lucky, even after we had to close the school, the Xavier Institute stuck together. Students, teachers, we looked after each other as best we could. Still, most of us were dead within months. Things didn’t get any better after that; they picked us off one-by-one, and then…” She stops and pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments. When she opens them again they’re damp with unshed tears – she dashes them away, refusing to let them fall. “… then we lost even more… we lost hope. We could no longer see a way to save the future… but maybe… maybe… we could save the past instead…”

“I’m sorry, you’re from the future?” Charles wants to scoff, laugh it off as some ridiculous joke, but the way Courtney… Natalie… looks at him, with so much grief in her eyes; he can’t help but believe her.

“Yes. And I was sent back here to stop that future from happening.”

“By doing what?” Erik asks, “Stopping Shaw from plunging the world into a nuclear war?”

Natalie’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? No. I mean yes, but… that happened fine the first time! What happens in the future has nothing to do with Shaw!”

“So, why are you _here_ if we stopped Shaw the first time? Why now? Why not later?” Charles rolls out the questions, confused, as he has every right to be: being back _here_ doesn’t make any sense!

“That’s a very good question.” Her tone is as dry as a desert, and just as inhospitable. “Apparently you and Magneto are both idiots who can’t resist the temptation to meddle!” Erik raises an eyebrow when she says ‘Magneto’ – of course; he hasn’t started using that name yet! Has Raven even suggested it to him? She must have... That happened in the CIA base, didn’t it? God, she can’t remember! There are so many memories floating around her head at the moment, the past, the future; so much that’s she’s having trouble keeping a track of everything…

“The temptation to meddle with what?” Charles’ measured question brings her back from her rambling thoughts, it sounds like the old Professor, the Professor she knows, and that grounds her, brings her back to the present… this present anyway.

“Cuba.” 

“Cuba?”

“Yes, Cuba…” Natalie has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at all that repetition (“Do you know the muffin man?” “The muffin man?” “The muffin man!” runs through her head and she wonders which side of crazy she is really sitting on, how much damage the trip back in time did to her mind, whether she can hold it together long enough to fix things… Hell, who is she kidding? She was unravelling even before she came back in time – the end of the world will do that to you).

“What happens in Cuba?” Charles asks, more calmly this time. His tone is measured and firm; maybe he noticed that talking like that helps Natalie to focus.

“The Russians try to put nuclear missiles in Cuba.” Natalie sticks to the facts, the things she can remember clearly, because whatever else is swirling around in the whirlpool of memories that is her brain at the moment, she can recall Cuba in all its painful detail. Amid all the chaos it sits there clear and sharp in her mind: a warning beacon of what needs to be avoided. “America sets up an embargo and threatens to blow the Russian missiles up if they cross the embargo line. Shaw tries to make sure they _do_ cross the line, so that the Americans will start a nuclear war.”

“But, you said that didn’t happen; Shaw didn’t start a nuclear war…” Erik is matching Charles confused look for confused look…

“No, you stopped him.”

“If we stopped him, then why would you want to change what happened in Cuba?” Moira this time, God... They’re all chipping in now, picking holes in a plan she didn’t agree with in the first place!

“It’s complicated…” She finds herself suddenly reticent; she knows she has to tell them, has to explain, but it’s going to change everything. Once she shows them Cuba, these three people will not look at each other in the same way again; will not look at themselves in the same way again. And if she does that, changes that, will they still be the people they need to be to stop Shaw…?

“Natalie,” Charles asks again, “what happens in Cuba?”

She sighs. “It’s easier if I show you…”

XXXXXX

_“I’m sorry Charles; it’s not that I don’t trust you…”_

_“Erik please! Be the better man! Erik there will be no turning back…Don’t do this Erik!”_

_“This is what we’re going to do… I’m going to count to three and then I’m going to move the coin…”_

_“Please Erik…”_

_A long drawn out scream and the searing pain of metal pushing through flesh…_

_Shaw dead, finally dead…_

_Then out on the beach._

_“The real enemy is out there. I can feel their guns moving in the water, their metal targeting us… go ahead Charles tell me I’m wrong…”_

_Betrayal, disappointment, disillusionment – Charles had believed humanity so much better than this…_

_Fear. Then relief as Erik stops the missiles in mid-air._

_Then fear again as the missiles start to turn… “Erik, you said it yourself, we’re the better men.”_

_The missiles keep turning._

_“There are thousands of men on those ships. Good, honest, innocent men! They’re just following orders…”_

_“I’ve been at the mercy of men just following orders. Never again.”_

_“No!”_

_Then the feel of flesh against flesh as Charles barrels into Erik._

_Then Fists and bruising grips and sand and desperation..._

_“I don’t want to hurt you! Don’t make me!”_

_“Erik stop!”_

_A neat fist to Charles’ jaw._

_The missiles flying straight once more._

_Moira’s first bullet. Then the second. The Third. Fourth._

_Then Charles’ scream. Back curving as he falls in the sand. The world seems to slow. The missiles explode, forgotten._

_Erik cradles Charles. “I’m so sorry…”_

_Moira._

_“You, you did this!”_

_Moira struggling for breath._

_“She didn’t do this, Erik. You did.”_

_Moira, released, forgotten, gasping in the sand._

_“We’re brother’s you and I. We want the same thing.”_

_“My friend, I’m sorry but we do not.”_

_Erik leaving. Raven leaving. Sand and pain and grief and…_

_“I can’t feel my legs… I can’t feel my legs…”_

But, she doesn’t stop there. She shows them more, much more. She shows them the registration act, Ellis Island, the Cure, the Sentinels, the War, the Xavier Institute burning….  She shows them glimpses of their whole future…. only glimpses though… she’s not foolish enough to show them everything. Too much knowledge is a dangerous thing, and their friendship is going to be strained enough by what she’s just shown them, there’s no point stretching it to breaking point over things that haven’t happened yet. She shows them just enough to hammer her point home, to show them the consequences of Cuba, to make it clear just what is at stake, to -

She slumps forward unconscious and Erik, Charles and Moira suddenly snap back to the present.

“Bloody hell…” Charles swears quietly: like the others he’s reeling from what he’s just seen.

“Good God…” Moira breathes. Her eyes are damp with tears. “Good God…” She repeats.

Erik doesn’t say anything: he seems to have frozen in shock.

It takes Charles a moment to notice that Natalie is passed out cold on the other couch. When he does he hurries to her side and presses his fingers against her temple.

“Is she alright?” Moira asks. Erik turns to look at the unconscious woman. He still hasn’t said anything and Moira notices that he’s trembling slightly… and that all the metal in the room is starting to vibrate.

“She just pushed herself too hard.” Charles concludes after a moment.  “After everything she’s been through, she wasn’t strong enough to project so much into our minds for so long. She’ll be fine in a little while…” He removes his hand from Natalie’s forehead and sits down heavily on the couch beside her.

“Erik.” Charles says the name sharply as the curtain rails start to rattle. The metal-bender flinches and the rattling stops. Erik is looking down at his hands: the way he doesn’t look at Charles speaks volumes.

The way he stands up suddenly and stalks out the room, without even glancing at Charles, speaks even louder.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning dawns bright and clear, the sky is cloudless and a bright cornflower blue.  It promises to be a warm day – a memory of the summer that supposedly surrendered to autumn weeks ago. It’s beautiful, a new day, a new beginning, a fresh start…

Charles feels like he’s looking at a picture in a storybook. How can a day look so beautiful, so hopeful, when he feels so bleak? He feels like he has his own personal black cloud hanging over his head. He feels caged in; trapped by the future and the past, by his own failings and the failings he failed to see in others, in Erik, in humanity. Erik has called him naïve so many times that the word had lost its sting, but now he sees that his friend ( _is he still that? Can Charles still call him that after everything he’s seen? Will Erik still consider him that?)_ was right, he has been stupidly naïve…

“I never knew you were such a champion sulker.”

Charles nearly jumps out of his skin – he’s not used to people sneaking up on him. No matter how preoccupied he is, he can always sense someone approaching him with his telepathic powers… unless of course that someone is also a telepath and able to hide their presence…

Courtney… Natalie… smiles at the way he starts at the sound of her voice.

“I’m sorry: I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her smile tells him she isn’t sorry and she _did_ mean to startle him.

“I’m not sulking.” He says automatically – it sounds childish even to his own ears.

Courtn… Natalie raises an eyebrow. “Really, cos it looks like you’re sulking to me…” She smiles mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t feel too bad about it: Moira’s upstairs moping and Erik is in the gym trying to beat the living daylights out of an innocent punch-bag – you’re hardly the only one sulking.” She gives another little smile, this one more sympathetic. “It was quite a bombshell I dropped on you all last night.”

“Yes…” Charles agrees. “It’s taking a while to digest.”

Natalie nods.  “I’m making pancakes,” She announces nonchalantly. “You want some?”

“Um…” Charles replies eloquently, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in conversation.

She interprets that as a ‘yes’. “Well,” She says. “Go fetch Erik and Moira and meet me in the kitchen. If you’re quick we can get a few rounds in before the ravaging hordes descend.”

Then she disappears off down the corridor. Charles watches her go and notes, with a frown and a hint of irritation, that she seems to have made herself at home very quickly. But then again, Charles remembers, from what he’s seen of the future this is… was… will be… her home.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and hums thoughtfully to himself for a moment, because Natalie has instructed him to summon Moira and Erik for breakfast, and that presents him with a bit of conundrum: he _could_ just call out to them both telepathically and hope they come down: Moira probably would come down, but Erik… Erik will almost certainly stay upstairs and continue to - as Natalie so eloquently put it - sulk. Which means if Charles wants Erik to come to breakfast he will need to go upstairs and talk to him face to face. The question is; does he _want_ Erik to join them? He feels petty for even thinking the question: he knows that they all need to stop sulking; stop agonising over what Natalie showed them. They need to pull together and get past this, they need to sit down and talk and work out what they’re going to do to make sure that that future never happens. But, Charles is only human and he can still feel his future self’s pain and grief, still feel the terror of realising he was paralysed…

He sighs and decides to bite the metaphorical bullet.

XXXXXX

Erik is indeed doing his best to destroy the punch bag. There’s sweat drenching his brow and anger in his eyes as he pummels fist after fist into the battered fabric. Charles stops in the doorway and watches the other man with a small frown on his face. Ever since Charles first met Erik he’s been concerned about all that anger bubbling away inside the German, and now he’s seen where that anger could take them all, what that anger could do to the whole world, and for the first time Charles feels a stirring of fear when he looks at the other man – fear of what he is capable of.

The steady thump of fist against fabric stops and Charles finds Erik is suddenly looking straight at him, jaw tightly set and eyes angry… angry and afraid… and suddenly Charles realises that he’s not the only one who’s terrified of what Magneto is capable of doing. And, that realisation means Charles is no longer afraid: Erik doesn’t want that future, and that means they can change things.

“Natalie’s making pancakes.” Charles says conversationally, as if this isn’t the first time they’ve set eyes on each other since Erik stormed out of the study last night.

Erik grunts and goes back to punching the punch bag.

Charles sighs. “You can’t avoid us all forever.”

The punches stop, Erik turns away from Charles and starts to take off his gloves. “Why are you here?” He asks the telepath without turning to look at him.

“Natalie’s making pancakes…”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Charles sighs again. “We can fix this Erik.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

“Maybe not, but I doubt our future selves would have gone through all the trouble of sending Natalie back here if they thought it was pointless trying to change things.”

Erik nods slowly and finally turns back to face Charles. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well, Natalie’s making pancakes…” Charles repeats with a small smile and the sudden realisation that his is actually starving…

XXXXXX

When they enter the kitchen the first thing Erik notices is the huge pile of fresh fruit, vegetables and dairy products piled on the kitchen table – apparently having the wealth of the Xaviers means that all you have to do is click your fingers and the next day you can have enough food to feed an army appear on your table.  Erik knows he should be grateful that they have the Xavier fortune at their disposal – and he is – but he’s also angry and scared of what they saw last night, and it’s easier to channel those emotions into annoyance at Charles’ privileged childhood and hostility towards the woman who brought the future to their doorstep than face what those emotions really mean.

The woman in question looks up from the bowl she’s cracking eggs into as they walk into the room.

“When did all this arrive?” Charles asks with a frown, which causes Erik to frown as well: the telepath must have been _really_ distracted if he didn’t notice somebody arriving at the mansion.

“About half an hour ago.” Natalie replies, starting to measure out the milk for the industrial sized quantities of pancake batter she appears to be making.  “Henry Knight dropped it off, said he’d pop by again later to discuss setting up a regular order. It’s very strange; I knew his grandson – they look scarily alike! I actually don’t know what happened to Ian in the end… I didn’t see him again after we closed the school. I hope he was alright… Still, I don’t suppose it really matters now.”

Charles is surprised by how verbose Natalie has suddenly become, in comparison to how reticent she’s been for the last two weeks. But, there’s something slightly odd about the way she rambles on without looking at Erik or Charles. It’s almost as if she’s talking more to herself than them, or even as if she’s not completely aware that she’s speaking at all. When Charles reaches out cautiously with his telepathy he’s surprised by how calm her mind is, how empty, all her concentration is on the pancake batter in front of her, on measuring and sifting and whisking. She’s focusing on the familiar motions, rather than the unfamiliar situation.

“I’m sorry,” Charles says, slipping into a seat opposite Natalie, while Erik stands in the doorway and scowls. “I should have been here to meet him.”

Natalie shrugs. “No worries, you had a lot on your mind.” She shots a sideways glance at Charles as he helps himself to an apple from the pile. “Henry seemed rather please to hear you were back in the country; wanted to know if I was the new Mrs Xavier! I rather quickly disabused him of that notion – said I was just a student of yours from Oxford, that you were considering setting up a school over here.”

“Did you?” Charles asks wryly, not sure whether to be annoyed at her presumption or impressed by the subtle manipulation – she’s an intelligent woman; Charles will have to remember not to underestimate her.

“Yes.”  She replies firmly, “There are some things from the future which should definitely not be changed: the Xavier Institute is one of them.”

“Anything else we need to keep from your future?” Erik asks dryly from the doorway, though it’s a serious question.

She looks up at him and meets his gaze, still whisking the batter as she does so. “You still need to kill Shaw.”

Charles frowns at that: at the firm way Natalie says it, as if it’s non-negotiable, and at the predatory glint that appears in Erik’s eyes when she mentions Shaw. Charles is about to say something, raise an objection, but Moira chooses that moment to appear in the doorway. Erik tenses as he notices her arrival: he can’t quite bring himself to look at her, or she at him, and they both move wordlessly into the room and awkwardly take up seats as far away from each other as possible. Natalie glances between the two of them, but makes no comment on the way they seem to circle around each other on the way to the table.

Charles doesn’t comment either, just steers the conversation away from Shaw, away from Cuba, until hackles have lowered a little. “One thing I don’t understand.”  He says to Natalie, conversationally. “You weren’t born a telepath?”

“No.” Natalie keeps her tone just as conversational, as they wait for the ice between Moira and Erik to thaw a little.

“So, how were you able to speak in my head after you woke up?”

“Most mutations are more physiological than psychological. I’m in Courtney’s body, so it’s mostly her mutation I have at my disposal.”

“That makes sense. But, if you’ve never been a telepath before, how did you know _how_ to do that? It took me years to work out how to do that: to learn how to control my powers. You’ve had them for less than a fortnight…”

“Ah,” She says with a smile as she finishes whisking the batter. “But I have a slight advantage.”

“Oh?” Charles asks, genuinely curious, as Natalie stands up bowl in hand.

“Yes, I have four sets of memories in my head, and two of them are telepaths’.” She sets the bowl down on the side and starts opening cupboards in search of a frying pan. Charles gives her a mental nudge in the right direction and she soon finds them.

“Four?” Moira asks with a frown, dragging her attention to the conversation and away from Erik who is still glowering into empty space (at least he’s not glowering at her).

“Charles’, Erik’s, Courtney’s and my own.” Natalie clarifies, testing the weight of the frying pans until she finds one she likes. “And anyway empathy’s not so different from telepathy, there are some transferable skills, some overlap in the senses and the techniques.”

“Like projecting your emotions when you’re ill?” Natalie doesn’t so much as bristle at Erik’s acid tone, just glances at him and replies in a far more civil tone than that barb deserves.

“My instincts are tuned to empathy, that’s what they’re used to, what they’ve grown up with. Is there really any surprise that my use of telepathy might have an emotional edge to it?”

“I suppose not…” Charles replies, pre-empting another caustic comment from Erik. Apparently it’s a futile attempt…

“As fascinating as this discussion is, don’t you think we there are more important things we should be discussing? For example; how we’re going to prevent humanity from trying to wipe us all out in the future?”

Natalie gives Erik a sharp look. “We start by making sure you don’t provoke them.” That pointed comment causes Erik’s face to darken, but before he can say anything she holds up one hand placatingly. “It’s more complicated than that, obviously. But, let’s take it one step at a time: our first priority is to make sure you’re able to defeat Shaw this time around.”

“Don’t you mean: ‘ _We’re_ able to defeat Shaw’?” Charles asks stressing the inclusive plural.

Natalie snorts derisively as she sets the frying pan down on the stove. “What possible use would I be to you in Cuba? I barely have my head screwed on right. I’d be more a liability than an asset. No,” she shakes her head. “I’ll sit down with you and go through everything I know about Cuba – help you come up with a plan, but there’s no point me coming with you.”

Charles nods slowly, it makes sense, though he will admit to a niggle of concern as to whether they will succeed in Cuba without supervision. Natalie looks over at him from where she’s been heating the frying pan on the stove. “Cuba went wrong the first time because Erik reacted on instinct instead of logic, and because you, Charles, spoke without thinking. Now, I assume neither of you are going to make those mistakes again?” Erik and Charles exchange a look, Natalie takes it as confirmation. “Good. Now, as for beating Shaw: I can tell you exactly where he will be, how he will block Charles’s telepathy and how he will attempt to manipulate Erik. You’ll have more information going in than you did last time, and you beat him last time.”

She turns back to the stove as the butter in the frying pan starts to sizzle. For a moment nobody speaks in the kitchen, there are lost in their own thoughts as they watch Natalie add the first dollop of batter to the hot pan.

The silence stretches on, and eventually, as she flips over the first round of pancakes, Natalie glances at the three morose faces sat around the table. “You want to start putting all that stuff away, before the others come down?” She suggests, gesturing at the pile of food that is taking up most of the table.

“Oh, sorry.” Charles says, jolting out of his reverie. He starts putting things away and Moira stands up to help him. Erik stays seated, a contemplative expression on his face.

“What _are_ we going to tell the others?” He asks after a moment.

Charles frowns around the open fridge door. “What do you mean?”

“About her,” Erik clarifies gesturing in Natalie’s direction. “About the future.”

“The truth.” Charles says as if he’d never contemplate anything else – he probably hasn’t.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” Natalie asks, not taking her eyes of the frying pan – the pancakes are at a delicate stage. “Have you seen the way you’re all looking at each other now? Do you want them looking at you like that as well? No.” She shakes her head. “To succeed in Cuba you’ll all need to work together as a team. They won’t be able to do that if they think they can’t trust you.”

“Should they trust us?” It’s Erik who asks the question, but he’s not the only one with that doubt in his eyes. “After what you showed us…” He trails off.

For a moment, there is silence as Natalie takes the pan off the heat and slides the cooked pancakes on to a waiting plate. Then she puts the pan down and turns to face Erik. “Those things haven’t happened yet.” She says very firmly. “They don’t _ever_ have to happen. As to whether they can trust you or not; only you can answer that question. And, it has nothing to do with the person you might become, the things you might do in another future, and everything to do with the person you are right now.

Then she picks up the plate of pancakes and a set of cutlery and sits herself at the kitchen table. After a moment she realises they’re all staring at her and she looks up. “What?” She demands. “You didn’t expect me to stand there and cook for all of you, did you? You’re all big boys and girls. I’m sure you can cook your own pancakes!” She then pointedly ignores them and starts eating.

Erik snorts softly in amusement and Charles and Moira’s features twitch into matching smiles. Moira hands Charles the bottle of milk she’s holding and then heads over to the stove to prepare her own breakfast.

They’ve all managed at least one round (Natalie and Erik have managed two) by the time a sleepy looking Raven appears in the doorway, sniffing appreciatively. Alex and Sean are about 10 minutes behind her. A mental reminder from Charles that unpacking the equipment can wait until after breakfast brings Hank in from where he’s been sorting through the crates they had left in the jeep overnight.

“So, when do we start training?” Alex asks around a mouthful of pancake.

Charles, Erik and Moira all glance over at Natalie. _Don’t look at me!_ She tells them. _You had a plan before you got here: stick to it._

The silent stretches on long enough to bring concerned frowns to the children’s faces. But, before anyone can say anything Charles comes back to his senses. “Well, Alex,” He begins, forcing his normal enthusiasm. “I thought we’d start with…”

Natalie smiles as the young professor launches into his plans and ideas for their training –he’s such a natural at this; it’s heartening to see. Eventually, they all split up and set about their tasks for the morning; Erik, Raven and Sean go with Hank to help him unload the jeep, while Charles takes Alex down to the bunker to practice Alex’s control. Moira stops in the kitchen to help with the washing up.

Back in the future Natalie would have insisted that everyone wash up their own plates, but she lets it slide this time: this isn’t the Xavier Institute yet, and she isn’t a teacher. The two women pile up the plates in companionable silence, and when everything’s been moved to the sink Natalie starts washing up, while Moira dries. The silence continues, but it’s stretched thinner: there’s a question on the tip of Moira’s tongue. Natalie waits for her to spit it out.

“You said Cuba went wrong because of Erik and Charles.” Moira says eventually. “But, I’m the one who fired the bullet. I’m the reason Charles was paralysed.”

Natalie glances over at the CIA agent. “You did the only thing you could in that situation: you tried to prevent the deaths of thousands of men. That wasn’t a mistake. Charles made a mistake in trying to argue that they were ‘just following orders’. Erik shouldn’t have tried to kill them in the first place. And, Erik was the one who bent the bullet into Charles’s spine – yes, he didn’t mean to do it. But, if he hadn’t tried to kill those men you would never have fired. It wasn’t your fault.”

Moira nods slowly, not looking convinced.

Natalie smiles sadly. “He never blamed you. Never. Erik, he was angry at for a long time, but never at you. Anyway,” She adds, “It’s not going to happen like that this time around.”

Moira doesn’t disagree, but she doesn’t _agree_ either, and the conversation lapses. It’s a comfortable silence though, as they finish washing, drying and putting away the breakfast things.

Looking around to check they haven’t missed anything, Natalie rolls back her shoulders to ease out the tension from leaning over the sink. She gives a slightly embarrassed yawn and says, “I think I’m going to have a nap. I didn’t exactly sleep well last night, what with the three of you stressing out all night.”

Natalie is halfway to the door when a quiet question from Moira stops her in her tracks.

“What if it _does_ happen the same way again. If Erik…” Moira trails off. “Do I shoot?”

Natalie doesn’t hesitate, just turns and looks Moira right in the eye and says very firmly. “Yes.”

Moira pales but doesn’t argue.

“I mean obviously you try and talk him out of it first,” Natalie adds, trying to ease the tension, “but, if that doesn’t work, then yes you shoot.”

Moira swallows uncomfortably but then, finally, nods.

Natalie feels herself relax ever so slightly: yes, she wants to change Cuba if she can (now that she’s back here), but Charles being paralyzed is not the worst thing that could happen. She’s glad someone else understands that.

If worse comes to worst then Natalie trusts Moira to do what is necessary.


	8. Chapter 8

“I will teach you to control this, Alex.” Charles tells the teen as they emerge from the bunker. The way Alex looks at him, Charles can tell he doesn’t believe it. Hell, Charles isn’t sure he believes it himself anymore. It’s not that he doesn’t think Alex can learn to control his powers (Natalie’s future shows that he can), or even that Charles couldn’t be the one to show him how (again, see Natalie’s future), but Charles is no longer sure whether he _should_ be the one to teach Alex, whether he’s worthy of that task.

Charles’ doubts are interrupted, however, as he and Alex enter the main entrance hall and he notices Court…Natalie sitting on the bottom step of the main staircase, staring out at nothing.  She looks like she’s still half asleep, like she’s in that muzzy state you get when you awake too suddenly and can’t quite work out where you are, whether you’re still dreaming or not.

“Alex,” Charles says quietly, “Why don’t you go on ahead, and I’ll catch you up?” The young man follows Charles’ gaze to the figure at the bottom of the staircase. Alex nods in understanding and continues on to the kitchen, where the others are assembling for lunch, leaving Charles alone with the dazed-looking young woman.

Charles sits down on the step next to Natalie, slowly so as not to startle her. After a moment she turns to look at him; her eyes are distant, and damp. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking straight at him, or rather through him. Eventually Charles feels the need to break the silence.

“They’re getting lunch ready in the kitchen.” It’s a neutral statement, with nothing implied, it’s just something to say, an attempt at starting a conversation.

“Hmm… Oh… I know…” She stops looking though Charles, and turns back to look at the entrance hall. “I was just on my way there, but I got distracted…”

“Distracted, by what?” Charles keeps his voice level and calm as he follows her gaze; she doesn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, just staring into space.

“Memories.”

“Memories of what?”

She doesn’t reply with words, instead she holds her hand out towards him, palm upwards. And, after the briefest moment of hesitation, Charles places his hand in hers.

The entrance hall immediately fills with people.

Teenagers of all shades and sizes laugh and shout and fight their way across the hall and through the mass of students as they all try to make their way from one classroom to another. One girl, instead of darting around the other students actually darts through them, her passage is accompanied by shouts and calls of ‘Damnit it, Kitty don’t do that!’. She just grins and runs up the stairs. In one of the doorways a woman with dark skin and bright white hair stands and oversees the chaos with a maternal eye. Next to her is a gruff looking man whom Charles recognises as the mutant who so eloquently told Charles and Erik where to go when they tried to recruit him a few weeks ago. They both watch the students with a protective eye, occasionally calling out an authoritative instructions to ‘Stop that!’ or ‘Leave that alone!’ or ‘Bobby stop turning the corridor into an ice rink!’. It’s a scene of chaotic joy, of life and hope, of promising young futures…

And then it all fades, leaving Charles alone with a misty-eyed Natalie sitting in the dappled sunlight.

“Who were they?” Charles asks after a moment.

“Your students.”

“From the future?”

“Yes,” She smiles sadly, wistfully. “There were so many of them, of us. You helped so many people.”

“How?” It’s a single word, but just asking that question betrays all the doubts Charles is currently having: how can he help these students in the future, when he can’t help his students now?

Natalie glances over at him and frowns slightly. “You’re a natural,” she assures him “you’re doing it now, with Alex and Sean and Hank.”

Charles snorts dismissively. “The training session with Alex didn’t exactly go well!”

Natalie gives him a sideways look. “You didn’t expect him to get it right first time did you? Teaching is all about patience and perseverance.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that, but they have so little time until Cuba… and well… Cuba. It all comes back to Cuba... “If I can’t help him, why do you think I can help them?” No need to clarify who ‘he’ is. Right now Erik is at the heart of all of Charles insecurities – how could Charles have got it so wrong?

“What makes you think you _haven’t_ helped him?” Natalie asks. “Look how much he’s changed since he first met you.”

It’s Charles’ turn to give Natalie a sideways look. “Cuba…” That one word explains it all.

Natalie sighs. “How long have you known Erik? A matter of weeks? A couple of months, maybe. How long has he been holding on to all that anger? How long has he been focused on killing Shaw? Years. Decades. Simple mathematics tells you that you shouldn’t expect to have fixed him after such a short amount of time.”

Charles has to grudgingly concede her point, but it doesn’t make him feel any better because they need to fix Erik before they go to Cuba.

“No we don’t.”

Charles starts, he was sure he hadn’t spoken that thought aloud… then he remembers that she’s a telepath as well, and that he’s going to have to keep a tighter rein on his thoughts from now on.

“We don’t have to fix him.” Natalie continues. “We don’t have _time_ to fix him completely. And anyway, it’s not _our_ responsibility to fix Erik. He has to fix himself; all we can do is encourage him.”

Charles contemplates that for a moment. Eventually he asks, “Do you think he will change?”

“His future self does, and your future self.”

“But, what do you think?” After all Charles and Erik’s future selves are likely to be slightly biased.

Natalie considers the question carefully, and Charles is grateful for that, glad she really is thinking about it and not just giving him a short, off-hand answer. A brief mental image of an older Erik and a chess game in the park hovers in the air for a moment and then disappears – Charles isn’t sure whether Natalie meant to broadcast that image or not. “Yes,” She says eventually. “Yes, I think he can change. I think he wants to change, but he’s scared.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Natalie laughs softly at that. “Terrified.” She agrees and then pushes herself up off the step. “Lunch?” She asks holding out a hand to help Charles stand up.

“Lunch.” Charles agrees, taking the offered hand.

  XXXXXX

Raven is concerned about Charles.

He’s doing a good job of putting on a cheerful front, but Raven knows her brother, and she knows what this house can do to him. Throughout lunch she watches him as he forces laughter and smiles, and then she frowns as she starts to notice other things: the way he keeps glancing at Courtney with something that’s almost fear in his eyes; the way he seems to tip-toe around Erik, as if the German could explode at any moment. And then she notices Charles isn’t the only one doing it: Moira is glancing at Erik and Courtney in exactly the same way. Erik has barely said a word all morning, and those he has spoken have been short and terse and he seems to be avoiding eye-contact with Moira, Charles and Courtney. Courtney is quiet as well, though that’s hardly unusual. What _is_ slightly unnerving is the way that Courtney watches everyone at the table, everyone, but especially Erik and Charles: it’s a cold, calculating look - like they’re all lab rats in some experiment and she wants to make sure they all run down the right section of the maze.

Maybe it’s not the house that’s bothering Charles, maybe something else is going on…

After lunch Raven decides to corner Charles while he’s searching the basement for an old pane of glass for Sean to practice breaking.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, in the blunt way that only a sister can get away with.

“Oh! Raven! I didn’t see you there! Would you mind helping me move this cabinet? I think we have some old window panes lying around from when we re-did the East Wing.”

Raven rolls her eyes: that right there is a classic attempt at avoiding answering a question. Charles may not have seen her come into the basement, but he certainly sensed her. She doesn’t call him on his attempt at misdirection just yet though. Instead she dutifully helps him move an ancient cabinet (the one with the broken door that they never got around to having fixed). Behind it there is indeed a pile of dusty glass window panes – enough to keep Sean occupied for a while.

Charles kneels down and starts leafing through the glass to see whether any of them are damaged.

“What’s going on with Courtney?” Raven asks. It’s a bit of a shot in the dark from Raven’s point-of-view, but the way Charles tenses at the question suggests that she’s hit pretty close to home.

“What do you mean?” Charles tries to sound nonchalant, but the way he doesn’t quite look at Raven when he says it tells her that he knows exactly what she means: lack of eye contact is a classic sign that Charles is trying to hide something. Charles has always been a pretty appalling liar: he feels guilty telling even the smallest lie (unless that lie is to keep someone safe or to keep their powers hidden) and that guilt shines right through – especially when he tries to lie to Raven.

“You and Moira keep looking at her like she’s the harbinger of doom, and at Erik like he’s a bomb that’s about to go off. Something is going on!”

Charles is impressed: ‘harbinger of doom’ and ‘bomb that might explode’ are pretty accurate descriptions of Natalie and Erik right now. Why does Raven have to be so perceptive? Because, he doesn’t like hiding things from Raven, but Natalie is right: if the others knew about Cuba it could shatter the already fragile bonds between their little team.

Charles looks up at Raven. “It’s nothing.” He assures her.

She raises a sceptical eyebrow and Charles gives up: he just can’t lie to her!

“It’s complicated.” He says instead.

Raven’s expression becomes curious, but she still doesn’t say anything as she takes up a perch on top of a stack of nearby crates. Sometimes silence is the best way to get people to talk: they start feeling awkward and try to fill up the silence with words. Charles doesn’t automatically start filling in the silence – he’s been on the receiving end of this tactic from Raven before – instead Raven watches as a series of expressions flicker across his face. He’s clearly agonising over something. And while Raven is, naturally, curious about what is going on, the overriding emotion now is concern for Charles: what could be going on that is worrying Charles so much?

“It’s complicated.” He repeats, “And, I’m sorry Raven, I can’t explain right now. I will, I promise, but it’s…”

“… complicated.” Raven finishes for him. Charles nods and gives her a look that pleads with her to understand. Raven sighs and gives in. “OK,” She says cursing her weak will in the face of Charles’ puppy-dog eyes. “So long as you do tell me! And soon!”

“Of course.”

Raven nods: he’s not broken a promise to her yet. “OK then. You need any help moving that glass?”

Charles beams at her, grateful for her understanding. “Yes, please.”

Between them they manage to manhandle several of the window panes up out of the basement and into the gardens. They’re just trying to work out the best way of mounting the glass when Raven notices Courtney slink onto the scene…

Raven spots the moment Charles realises Courtney is there, and then the shape-shifter watches as a telepathic conversation takes place. She can’t hear what they’re saying to each other, obviously, but there are enough giveaways in their facial expressions for Raven to get the gist of the conversation: there’s the way Courtney’s eyes narrow and focus in on Charles as he initiates the conversation; the stubborn set to Charles’ jaw that says he’s not going to break his promise to Raven; the way Courtney glances briefly at Raven and then back to Charles – she knows it’s because of Raven that Charles is being stubborn. Then there’s a long staring contest as the two telepaths argue back and forth, then the tiny drop in Courtney’s shoulders and the slight incline of her head as she concedes to Charles.

Raven feels a stab of victory on Charles’ behalf and then a vague, uncomfortable, feeling that she might regret this…

  XXXXXX

_Fine. But not right this moment. Give me some time to work out how to tell them._

Charles knows when to back down, so he accepts Natalie’s conditional surrender, accepts her reason for delaying, but also lets her know that he won’t forget: she will have to explain to the others that she is from the future.

_They don’t need to know all the details about Cuba though…_

It’s an afterthought, a parting shot, but Charles doesn’t argue. For Erik’s sake he understands that there are some things it’s probably best they don’t share with the others. And, Charles doesn’t even feel that guilty about keeping those parts of the future quiet, because it is _not_ going to happen that way this time around.

And then, Charles tries to push all thoughts of the future out of his head and concentrate on the present as Moira and Sean come around the side of the house: he has a student to teach. Hopefully, this will go better than this morning’s session with Alex.

At the edge of his awareness he notices Natalie settle down with a book a short distance away; it’s close enough that she can see and hear everything that is going on in Sean’s training session, but not so close that she’s crowding them. A small part of Charles is irritated by her presence, finds it claustrophobic, but most of him finds it reassuring: she won’t let him make a mistake with Sean. And then he notices something which soothes that tiny irritated part of him, and makes the rest of him smile; Raven has settled herself a short distance away from Natalie and is watching the other woman like a hawk. He should tell Raven that it’s not necessary, that Natalie doesn’t need watching. But, he doesn’t, because he’s not completely convinced that Natalie _doesn’t_ need watching, and besides that feeling that his sister cares enough to be so overprotective, well it’s quite a nice feeling.

It’s not long though, before all thoughts of Raven and Natalie flee from his head as he immerses himself in Sean’s training, on testing and then strengthening the range of his voice.

By the end of the training session Sean has successfully broken all of the window panes that Charles and Raven brought up from the basement, and everyone is feeling suitably pleased with themselves as they start to pack up and then head back into the house for dinner.

  XXXXXX

Sean knows he isn’t the sharpest tool in the box (especially not when the rest of the box includes Charles and Hank) but, as they all sit down to dinner that evening, even he can tell that something isn’t right: Erik’s been grumpier than usual all day, Charles and Moira are tip-toeing around him and each other, and all the adults seem to treating Courtney as if she’s radioactive or something.  Something is clearly going on. The way Raven is glaring at Courtney and shooting concerned looks at Charles suggests she knows something about what is going on. And Sean knows that Alex has spotted that something is wrong – the older teenager had taken him aside just before dinner and asked if he knew what had got up Erik’s nose. Hank, however, appears to be completely oblivious to the whole situation – genius as he is the scientist is pretty crap at picking up on social signals.

The tension between the adults stifles the conversation around the dinner table and it’s during a pause in conversation, a silence that goes on a moment too long to be comfortable, that Charles sets down his fork with a determined expression on his face, turns to look straight at Courtney and says in a firm tone; “So, Natalie, have you decided what you’re going to tell everyone about where you came from?”

“Wait, who’s Natalie?” Sean asks in confusion.

Courtney just sighs. “You’re an idiot Charles.”

“I’m not comfortable lying to the people I care about.” Charles’ tone is vaguely reproachful, almost accusatory.

“Oh, you’ll get over that little hang-up at some point in the next fifty years…” Natalie retorts; Oh, yes, she’s definitely still pissed at The Professor and Magneto for lying to her, and as they are unfortunately not here Erik and Charles are bearing the brunt of her anger (Natalie thinks it might be easier on her sanity if she tries to keep the present and the future versions of Charles/The Professor and Erik/Magneto separate in her head. If she treats them as completely different people it might make the whole situation a lot easier to cope with. Maybe).

“I thought the whole point of you coming back in time was to stop that future from happening.” It’s Erik who jumps in this time, and Natalie should probably be reassured by the fact that he’s still willing to jump to Charles’ defence, but she’s too pissed at the pair of them to care right now. 

“Wait, back in time? Future? What are you talking about?” Sean is completely confused, his gaze darting between Charles and Courtney like he’s watching a tennis match.

They don’t answer him immediately, Charles and Courtney are glaring at each other, and Sean suspects they’re engaged in a telepathic argument. Courtney is the one who looks away first. She sighs and puts down her cutlery.  Then she turns to the rest of the table and says something which is quite possibly the last thing Sean ever expected her to say: “My name isn’t Courtney Stevens, it’s Natalie Walker. I was born in the year 1989, and I came back in time from 50 years in the future in order to stop the world from ending.”

The teenagers all stare at her with expressions that say they can’t work out if she’s joking or not.

“It’s true.” Charles assures them.

They blink in unison and then their faces morph into various shades from sceptical to downright disbelieving.

“Time-travel isn’t possible.” Hank states with the unequivocal assurance of someone stating a well-known scientific fact.

“It breaks causality.” Courtney… Natalie… whoever she is… agrees with Hank. “I know. But, it turns out Einstein wasn’t right about everything.”

Hank opens his mouth and looks like he is about to continue arguing about the physical impossibility of time travel when Alex asks a question which silences the entire table, “If you’re from the future, did you know that he was going to kill Darwin?”

Everyone turns to look at Court…Natalie.

She doesn’t flinch under all those intense stares, just looks Alex right in the eyes and answers calmly. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” Alex demands angrily, and damnit, Sean wants to know the same thing! “Why didn’t you warn us? We could have saved him!”

“The honest answer is: I was still reeling from my trip back in time, I was barely coherent – I didn’t realise we were so close to those events until it was too late.” Reluctantly Alex relaxes slightly, mollified by her explanation. But, then she continues… “However, the even more brutally honest answer would be that even if I had remembered in time, I probably wouldn’t have interfered: what if I had, and Shaw had killed more of you than just Darwin?” She doesn’t add: ‘and if Darwin hadn’t died, you wouldn’t be the man you are today, you wouldn’t be so determined to beat Shaw, and we need that determination’.

Alex is furious at that answer, and so are most of the rest of the table – furious or shocked. Charles is looking suddenly uneasy: he’s starting to doubt whether they should trust a woman who can make such a callous decision. But, Moira and Erik, they’re looking at her in a way that’s shocked, yes, but also understanding: they can appreciate the calculation she had to make, the weighing up of one life against many. That understanding reassures Natalie: she acts as if she’s so sure about these decisions, about what the way forward should be, but she’s not, she’s really not. She knows she’s not quite herself at the moment (how could she be after everything that’s happened), she’s almost certainly suffering some sort of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – hell, after everything that she’s been through it would be peculiar if she _wasn’t_. But, what that really means is that right now she can’t be completely sure she’s making the right decisions for the right reasons, and the fact that Moira and Erik understand about Darwin… well, maybe that means she _is_ still capable of making the right calls…

The rest of the table doesn’t see it that way though.

“Darwin’s death,” Natalie says firmly, before anyone can interject with an angry comment, “as tragic as it was, was not the end of the world: if Shaw isn’t stopped it _will_ be the end of the world.”

And _that_ comment forces everyone to stop and think.


	9. Chapter 9

There is a very long silence after Natalie’s comment about the world ending; her point seems to have hit home. She doubts though that Alex, in particular, will forgive her anytime soon for her reluctance to save Darwin. But, that’s fine by her – so long as they beat Shaw, she will happily live with Alex being angry at her.

When the silence is finally broken, it’s by Hank. “If you’re from the future,” Hank starts to ask slowly, “then you know what happens to us, all of us?”

It’s an awkward question, and one Natalie had hoped they wouldn’t ask. Now that it has been asked though all she can do is answer honestly: Hank is too smart to be fooled by her lying about this. “Yes.” She says shortly

“And…?” Raven asks eagerly, curious about her possible future – she wouldn’t be if she knew what it entailed.

“And that’s it.” Natalie replies firmly. “I’m not telling you what happened to you in my future. I’m not telling you anything else; I’m from the future, I can help you beat Shaw and then I can help you make sure humanity doesn’t end up in an all-out war with mutants. You don’t need to know anything else.”

“Come on! You can’t just not tell us what happens!” Alex protests.

“You really want to know?” Natalie doesn’t believe them: they might think they want to know, but Natalie knows their future; they don’t want to know.

“Yes!” Alex insists.

“You want to know how you die? When, and where and how?” She throws the questions at them, hard and fast, and they just sit there in stunned silence, not sure how to respond. “No, I didn’t think so.” Natalie says with a sense of finality and goes back to eating her dinner.

“So, Alex dies…” Hank says after a moment.

Natalie lowers her cutlery with a sigh. “Everyone dies Hank.”

“I meant- ”

“You meant what?” Natalie demands. “Does he die young? Does he die in Cuba? Does he live to ripe old age and die in bed surrounded by doting grandchildren? I repeat: I am not going to tell you!”

“Why not?” Sean chips in. Natalie is getting more than a little annoyed at this barrage of questions from the children, and at the way Charles, Erik and Moira are sat there spectating instead of helping Natalie: they can’t _really_ think that it’s in the children’s best interests to know how they die.

“Because it’s not going to happen that way now!” Natalie exclaims, her frustration bleeding through. “And I don’t want you living your lives fearing or expecting something that’s not going to happen.”

“If it’s not going to happen, why does it matter if you tell us?” Raven wheedles.

She stares at Raven for a long moment, a furious look on her face, and then she snaps. “Fine. Ok, Fine. The four of you…” She points to Raven, Sean, Alex and Hank, in turn. “In my version of the future; within 10 years two of you will have been captured by an anti-mutant organisation, tortured and experimented on. One of you will die from it, the other will escape and spend the rest of their life hating humanity and trying to destroy all humans. As for the other two, one of you has a long, successful, career and is eventually made America’s ambassador to the UN – this country’s most prominent mutant – and then they will be assassinated by anti-mutant extremists, an event which seriously escalates tensions between our species. And finally, the fourth person: survives active service in Vietnam but is killed in a road accident a few years later. And, no I will not tell you who is who.”

And, that _finally_ shuts them up.

  XXXXXX

After Natalie’s revelation about the future there is a very long, very awkward, silence. A minute and a half of those shocked stares is about all Natalie can take before she drops her fork on to her plate with a clatter and without another word stands up and walks out of the kitchen. She walks and walks, along corridors that are so familiar and yet at the same time so alien. She doesn’t care what they’re saying about her back in the kitchen, doesn’t care what they think about her: she is here to save the future, and if she has to hit hard to do so then she will. If she has to lie and keep secrets and manipulate people to ensure that the world doesn’t end then that is what she will do. The war has stripped everything from Natalie, stripped her right down to the bone; she used to believe that the ends didn’t justify the means, that murder was never justified, that there were some things she would never do, crimes she would never commit.

Now she knows better.

She will put a bullet in Charles Xavier’s back herself if that’s what it takes to save the future.

She hopes it doesn’t come to that of course, but the war has taught her to prepare for the worst.

Eventually the eerie familiarity of the mansion’s corridors drives Natalie outdoors. It’s a cool, clear, night and the feel of the night air against her skin helps ground her, helps her feel alive, alive and real, rather than lost in a dream. She glances up and smiles a small genuine smile for the first time in weeks: with so little light pollution around the Milky Way can be seen clearly.

She’s always loved the stars.

Even during the darkest days of the war, when she would curse the whole universe, curse the stars themselves, for bringing this destruction down on their heads, she could still appreciate the beauty of the stars. She remembers one night, maybe three months ago, when the students of the Xavier Institute had found themselves camping in the middle of a forest. Her and David had snuck away for a few moments and, in a brief respite from the terror and the fear, made love beneath the stars…

She chokes back her grief, pushes away the pain of David’s death, pulls her thoughts back down to earth, back to the present and away from the pain of the past (or the future, depending on your point of view), and notices that she’s not the only one who’s enjoying the celestial beauty: Erik is leaning on a stone balustrade, looking out over the lawn and up at the stars. She hesitates for a moment and then starts walking across the gravel towards him.

He turns his head as the crunch of gravel announces her approach, but he doesn’t say anything as she comes and leans on the balustrade next to him. They stand there in silence for several minutes, Natalie watching the stars and Erik watching Natalie, a thoughtful frown on his face.

Eventually Erik asks the question that’s clearly been running around his head for the last few minutes; “Is that really how they die?”

Natalie glances at him briefly and then turns back to look at the stars, her jaw firmly set. “Yes.” She says shortly.

“You didn’t show us that.” Erik’s tone stops just short of making that statement an accusation.

“I didn’t show you a lot of things.” She says matter-of-factly, still looking up at the stars.

Erik frowns. “What aren’t you telling us?”

She glances over at him and shrugs. “I told you, lots of things. You can’t really want me to dump 50 years of memories in your head, especially when they’re memories of events that probably aren’t going to happen anymore.”

“Is what you’re hiding worse than what you showed us?”

She gives him a piercing look. “Wasn’t what I showed you bad enough?”

Erik doesn’t answer verbally, just keeps looking at her with that penetrating stare of his. Erik is a pessimist: as bad as Cuba was, there can always be something worse.

Natalie is resolved not to say anything, not to tell anyone any more about the future, but she’s forgotten how intense Magneto can be, and while this younger Erik hasn’t quite refined that stare into the razor sharp weapon of his older self, it is still pretty potent.  She finds herself cracking under that gaze, and so says the first thing that comes into her head; “You kidnapped me and my fiancé once, well, he was only my boyfriend then….” Yes, it was all part of a grand plan to save the future – a plan she’s enacting at this very moment – but she didn’t know that at the time, and that doesn’t mean she’s forgiven either the Professor or Magneto for the terror of that car journey, or for the years of memory loss; the years of not knowing, of fearing what might have happened in those missing three weeks. Those years of not knowing built up a fear of Magneto in Natalie that even now she finds difficult to dispel.

 Erik blinks, and then frowns: he hadn’t expected her to say that, hadn’t expected his future self to have caused her so much pain on such a personal level. “I’m surprised you feel comfortable being alone with me.”

“I don’t.” She admits. “But, sometimes trusting someone is a choice, a conscious decision to override our instincts.”

She glances over at him and sees the sceptical look on his face. With a sigh she pushes herself upright and taking a step towards him reaches out to take one of his hands. He straightens up, curious, and doesn’t resist as she moves his hand until it’s resting just beneath her right breast. He raises a surprised eyebrow, but her expression is serious as she looks up and meets his eyes.

“Do you feel that?” She asks. “That metal there: a thin wire resting inches away from my heart. I know you noticed yesterday when I wasn’t wearing it. How easy would it be for you to move it, to turn it, to use it to pierce my heart or my lungs?” Erik is disturbed that she thinks like that, thinks about how something so innocuous could be used to kill her. But, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised: it’s how _he_ thinks. The years in the camps - with Shaw – taught him to think like that… to think about how someone could kill you… or you could kill them… He runs his fingers around her ribcage, feeling the metal beneath his fingertips, thinking. She lets him, watches him as he frowns and struggles to understand what she’s telling him. “For years” She continues quietly, “I’ve avoided underwired bras, metal belt buckles, zips, all kinds of metal fastenings, because I was terrified of what Magneto could do with them.”

“You mean what I could do with them.” He tugs at the metal around her chest to prove his point, tightens it, just a little. She draws in a breath, pulling her chest in, but apart from that she doesn’t move: doesn’t even flinch.

“No.” She says the word firmly, calmly, as if Erik isn’t holding a thin band of metal tight around her chest. “You’re not that man.”

“Not yet.”

“Do you want to be him?”

“No...” He releases his powers, lets the metal return to its original shape.

“Then you won’t be.” She seems so sure.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yes,” She insists. “It is. We are the people we choose to be. Of course, inevitably, things will happen that we have no control over, things that can shape who we are. But we can choose _how_ they shape us. We can choose whether we let those moments define us or not. We can choose who we become.”

“You’re sounding a lot like Charles…”

She gives a soft snort of laughter. “Well,” she admits, “foolishly naïve and overly optimistic he may be, but sometimes he is right.” She reaches up one hand to gently cup Erik’s face. “You won’t become that man.” She assures him. “I won’t let you.” There’s so much steel in those four words that Erik can’t help but believe her.

Then he realises that his hand is still resting against her chest and that they are standing so close that he can hear every beat of her heart, feel every breath she takes through his fingertips, as her ribcage rises and falls and rises again; it’s vaguely hypnotic being this close to someone. He looks down at her and she stares back up at him. Her hand is still resting against his cheek. It’s cool against his skin, as cool as the night air, and that’s probably not a good thing –she’s all skin and bones, she should be back inside where it’s warm. Erik should make her go back inside, but he doesn’t move. He just stares down at her, wondering how a woman who’s seen what he has done, the man he will become, can have so much faith in him.

“You won’t become that man.” She repeats quietly, bringing her left hand up to cup his other cheek. She pushes herself up on to her tiptoes, so her face is closer to his. Erik’s other hand automatically goes to the other side of her ribs: stabilizing her. She drags his face down to hers so that they’re nose to nose, eye to eye. “You won’t.” She repeats and they are so close that he feels the warm breath from those words brush against his lips. And then, even that gap has disappeared and their lips are pressed against each other. For a heartbeat they stay like that, frozen, shocked, and then Natalie breathes out and into the kiss. They both ease into it, gently at first and then eagerly, hungrily, desperately. His hands tighten on her waist. Her hands slip down to rest on his shoulders. Her lips open slightly, inviting and…

Suddenly, she’s pushing him away, pulling back, wrenching herself free of his grasp and turning away with a shuddering breath to grip the balustrade behind them.

Her abrupt withdrawal leaves Erik reeling for a moment and his suddenly empty hands clasp at nothing before dropping to his side. “I’m sorry.” He says, though he’s not sure why. Not sure if he’s the one who should be apologising. Hell, he’s not exactly sure what just happened… Then he notices that Natalie’s breath is coming in short bursts, as if she’s fighting off a panic attack, and that she’s gripping the stone beneath her fingers so tightly her knuckles have turned white. “What’s wrong?” He asks, demands, even more confused.

“Nothing, it’s not you. It’s just… God… Sorry… ” She gasps, chest heaving with the effort not to hyperventilate. “It’s just… God!” That last word comes out as a curse. “It’s just… the last man I kissed… was my fiancé…” Her breath hitches and she squeezes her eyes closed for a moment “… as he died in my arms.”

For an age the only sound in the still night is Natalie’s shuddering breaths as she tries to stop herself from crying.

“When did he die?” Erik asks eventually.

“18th August 2019.” Natalie answers, opening her eyes. Her breathing has stabilised, but her hands, when she lifts them off the balustrade, are shaking.

“I meant, how long ago for you?” Erik clarifies, his voice surprisingly gentle.

She sighs. “I know what you meant…” She says her voice cracking; the sarcasm she’s been using so much is a defence mechanism: it stops her from having to think about everything that’s happened: from having to feel it. “How long was I unconscious for?” She asks, “After you found me.”

“Five days.”

“A little over a month ago then.” She concludes, after a moment’s calculation. And most of that month was spent either being unconscious, suffering through withdrawal symptoms or focused so intently on finding the Professor and Magneto, that she hasn’t had time to think about the fact that David is dead. She hasn’t wanted time to think.  She hasn’t wanted time to grieve, because grieving will make it real.  She hasn’t even cried for him yet. Not unless you count the screams and denials as he bled out in her arms. But in all honesty, those hadn’t been tears of grief: shock and denial, frustration, disbelief, pain, yes… but not grief… grief by its very nature has a modicum of acceptance in it and she hadn’t been anywhere near ready to accept it then. She’s not sure she’s ready now…  “I’m sorry,” She tells Erik. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I think you’ll find I kissed you.”

She gives a short humourless, almost hysterical laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you! I’m an empath; sometimes I project my feelings, the things I want on to other people. And, I’m sorry I honestly don’t know whether that kiss was my fault or yours.”

“You wanted to kiss me?” Now, he’s really confused.

She gives him a look that’s half annoyance, half despair. “I wanted David to kiss me! I wanted someone to kiss me! God! I just… wanted to feel less alone!”

“You’re not alone.” Three little words, but they have just as much impact now as they did all those weeks ago off the coast of Miami.

She freezes for a moment and then breathes out slowly. She reaches up to rub her forehead, before turning to face Erik. “He said that to you, didn’t he, when you first met?”

“As you said, Charles may be hopelessly optimistic, but sometimes he is right.”

It’s not really funny, but that comment draws a short hysterical laugh from Natalie; a laugh that quickly turns into gasping sobs. Her whole body is shaking as she tries to hold herself together, tries to control these unwelcome tears. She needs to be strong for a little longer – she has a future to save. But, when Erik reaches over to pull her into his chest she doesn’t resist. She used to tell her students that sometimes being strong means having the courage to let someone else help you – maybe it’s time she took her own advice. She knots her hand into Erik’s shirt, buries her head into his chest and lets the tears start to fall. He presses a brief kiss into the top of her head and lets her cling to him as the sobs wrack her body, just holds her as the emotion comes pouring out, because this is grief, and this he understands.

After a few moments her initial tears start to subside. Erik looks up and notices Charles leaning against the side of the house, half wreathed in shadow, watching them with a sad look on his face.

Erik has no idea how long he’s been standing there.

Erik feels Natalie shift against his chest and when he glances down he sees she’s turned her head and is looking straight at Charles. Wordlessly she holds out her hand to the telepath. Who pushes himself upright and crosses the space towards them to take her hand.

She drops her head back against Erik’s chest and lets her and Charles’ clasped hands hang loosely between them.

And then Erik feels it, a gentle brush at the edge of his consciousness; hesitant, questioning. Natalie hovers at the edge of his mind and for the briefest moment there is a memory that’s not his; a cabin in the woods and three minds joined together, when all this was just an academic puzzle on a piece of paper, rather than cold hard reality.

And then Erik realises what she’s doing, what she’s asking for; his and Charles’s minds are the only familiar things for her, lost in a time she doesn’t know. So, as she embraces the grief she’s been hiding from, lets loose the floodgates, she reaches out to their minds like a drowning person clings to a piece of driftwood – she does it to stop herself going under. So, Erik lets her in, lets her burrow into his mind, lets her hold on to it and use it to anchor herself to reality.

It’s a strange feeling to have someone else in your head.

Erik has felt it before of course; when Charles jumped in after him in Miami. But, this is different: Charles had been a calm, steady, presence. Natalie’s mind is anything but calm. She’s fraying at the edges, coming apart at the seams. Her sanity has been stretched to its limits by everything she’s been through, and she knows it, and for someone who has always relied upon her mind, considered it her greatest asset, the thought that she might be losing it terrifies her. Erik feels her fear as she anchors her mind in his, feels her grief and her pain, sees it, sees flashes of what she’s been through, the pain and the death… and then strangest of all he realises he can feel something else: he can feel Charles. Not in his own head, but through Natalie’s mind Erik can feel the way she is also anchoring herself in Charles’ mind.

The only way Erik can describe it is like a gymnast balancing with each foot on the shoulders of two different people; Erik can feel the way she shifts to stabilise herself and the way Charles stays steady underneath her other metaphorical foot. He feels her test their strength and her own balance, and when she finds her equilibrium in their heads she lets loose a long, tired breath and starts to open her memories of David. Erik can’t see them, not really: Natalie isn’t sharing his head, as such, just using his mind to balance her own. But, he catches brief flashes: like watching a movie through speckled glass, and he feels tendrils of her emotion seeping out of her. Tendrils that build into rolling waves as she relives the days leading up to her fiancé’s death. As she moves closer and closer towards the inevitable event Erik feels her dig her toes deep into their minds: holding on tight so she doesn’t fall, as the waves build and rage and then finally crash over her in a great wall of grief that leaves her sobbing and gasping for breath one hand knotted in Erik’s shirt, the other still clutching Charles’ tightly.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters after a moment, letting go of Erik’s shirt and dashing the tears away from her cheeks. “You didn’t want to feel all that.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s better to share grief than to bottle it up.” Charles reassures her.

“What?” He asks when he notices the look Natalie is suddenly giving him: intent and focused, as if she’s trying to work out a complex maths problem. Then she turns to look at Erik, and Charles realises what she’s thinking.

So does Erik.

“No.”

“Why? Is your grief going to be more painful than mine?”

Erik frowns at her because that is an unfair question if ever there was one.

“Or,” she says ruthlessly, “Are you afraid you don’t know who you’ll be if you let go of all that pain? Because, I’ve shown you who you will be if you hold on to it.” Charles has to admire this woman - she certainly doesn’t pull her punches.

Erik tenses and looks as if he is about to push Natalie away, to walk away as he has done every time Charles has pushed too hard. But, Natalie won’t let him. Her free hand snakes out to cup the back of Erik’s head, to hold on to him and force him to look her in the eye.

“I’ve already seen it all Erik.” She says gently, “so has Charles, and we’re both still here. There is nothing in there that you can show us that will drive us away.” Then she drops her hand to the side of Erik’s face, and slowly, so he can pull away if he wants, she reaches up to kiss him again.

There’s nothing sexual about this kiss, it’s just open and honest, welcoming, beckoning, pleading with Erik to trust her, to trust them, just like she trusted him with her grief. Charles feels it all, echoing down the link between them, anchored in their still clasped hands but stretching deeper into the very depths of their consciousness. And, Charles feels the moment Erik starts to relent, the moment he eases out of the kiss and let his forehead rest against Natalie’s. His eyes are raw and vulnerable as they ask her if she’s sure, really sure, she wants this pain. Then he lets out a long breath that’s almost a sigh and closing his eyes, rests his cheek against Natalie’s forehead.

She lets out a small gasp of surprise as the first wave of Erik’s grief comes rolling across their connection. He gives a little jerk as if to pull back, but Natalie’s firm hand moves to the back of his head to prevent him from moving away. She feels Charles’s hand tighten in hers as the first wave of pain rolls on into him.

And it is just the first wave. Erik is deliberately cautious, deliberately gentle, letting his pain and grief out bit by bit in waves; he doesn’t want them to drown in it. It laps and rolls through their minds, breaking against them in seething tides of emotion. It bounces off the boundaries of their minds, picking up some of Natalie’s grief as it goes, some of Charles’s, until all there is, is a sea of emotion blurring the edges of their existence.


	10. Chapter 10

When she comes across the three, supposedly adult, mutants curled up against each other like a litter of puppies Moira isn’t sure whether to smile or roll her eyes. They make quite the picture and the temptation to sneak back into the mansion and find a camera is large, but so is the mansion and she has no idea where to even look for a camera. So instead, she settles for leaning down and shaking them awake before the kids come outside and find them.

“Well, this is embarrassing…” Charles mutters as he drifts back to consciousness and realises where he is.

“Could be worse,” Natalie points out dryly, her eyes still half closed. “At least we’ve still got our clothes on…”

Erik snorts at that and sits up rubbing at the crick in his neck.

“What were you doing out here last night anyway?” Moira asks genuinely bewildered. The three mutants share a look, not really sure how to explain what happened – it’s not exactly something that can be described in words.

 “Sharing grief.” Is the explanation that Natalie finally gives and to their surprise Moira accepts that explanation with a nod and a smile of understanding; as if from those two words she really does comprehend exactly what happened between the three of them last night, and, maybe she does, she is a very perceptive woman.

“The kids will be up soon.” Moira points out. “You might want to go and change before they start making assumptions about why you’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” There’s a hint of amusement tinting her voice.

The three mutants share a look and without any telepathic communication jointly reach the conclusion that while there’s nothing actually _wrong_ with the three of them still being in last night’s clothes, Moira probably has a point. Besides, nobody really wants to spend two days in the same clothes if they can avoid it.

  XXXXXX

After months on the run from the Sentinels, being able to strip off last night’s clothes and step into a hot shower is a luxury Natalie no longer takes for granted. She savours the feeling of warm water flowing over her body, as it eases the ache from muscles protesting at having spent the night sleeping in such an unnatural position. Except, of course, it’s not really _her_ body: it’s Courtney’s. She tries not to think about that. She has a future to change; she doesn’t have time to deal with body dysphoria on top of everything else. So, she pushes it to the back of her head and thinks about other things, doesn’t dwell on the fact that this body doesn’t feel right, that the arms are too short or that the hips too small or that the weight (what little of it there is) is distributed differently or the million other discrepancies between the body she grew up in and this one that she’s stolen from a dead woman. She tries not to think about it. But sometimes it’s a difficult truth to ignore. For example, when she reaches for something and, misjudging the distance, drops it, or when she turns a corner wrong and catches her elbow on the wall… or when she goes to step out of the shower and misjudges the length of Courtney’s stride…

Stepping out of the shower, it’s something she’s done a thousand times before. But, not in this body…

As her foot comes down it catches and twists on the edge of the shower instead of landing safe on the floor as she’d intended. She snaps out an arm to steady herself but gets the distance wrong and misses. Gravity takes over and she tumbles to the floor. Her knees crack down on the hard tiles and in her old body she would have been able to halt the fall there. But, this isn’t her body. Hands go out to stop her descent but somehow she gets it wrong again, one wrist twists painfully and she slips sideways cracking her head against the wall.

Stars dance in her vision and for a second everything goes black.

It all happens so fast. One moment she’s upright and the next she’s a tangled mess of throbbing limbs. After her vision clears she just lies there, reeling from the suddenness of the fall. After a moment she pushes herself into a sitting position, rests her back against the wall, and discovers that not only has she twisted her wrist and her ankle but she has cracked her head hard enough against the wall that she’s now dripping blood onto the floor.

She wants to sigh: it’s so _stupid_ ; slipping getting out of the shower.

And then there’s the sound of people running along the corridor towards the bathroom and she just wants to swear. Of course, Charles, with his stupid, unnecessary and frankly annoying saviour complex has picked up on the pain of Natalie’s fall and come running in like the exasperating hero that he thinks he is, to save the damsel in distress. And, she knows she’s being unreasonable but everything hurts, including her pride and she’s pissed and frustrated that something as simple as having a shower has suddenly become so hazardous.

The footsteps have stopped; Charles must be outside the door now.

From her position on the floor Natalie sees the lock on the inside of the door start to turn – so, Erik’s there too.

“Don’t come in!” She snaps angrily.

The handle stops.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Charles’ voice is laced with concern and for some reason that just irritates Natalie even more; she is not some useless young woman who needs Charles to barge in and save her– damnit, she survived seven months on the run from the sentinels! She is quite capable of looking after herself (she pointedly ignores the fact that she’s currently a bundle of bruised limbs on the bathroom floor).

“I’m fine!” She snaps back at Charles, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Just slipped getting out of the shower.”

The lock starts to turn again.

“Don’t!” This time as well as the verbal command she throws a mental instruction at them to _stay out!_

The lock stops turning.

“You’re bleeding.” Charles points out – and of course he wouldn’t respect her privacy enough to stop himself from checking up on her. Though it appears the shock of the fall has shaken loose some of Natalie’s mental shields – he shouldn’t have been able to pick up on the fact she’s bleeding - or maybe her shields aren’t as strong as she thought they were, after all telepathy and empathy are subtly different and she’s only been a telepath for a few days... “One of us should come in there and make sure you haven’t concussed yourself, or broken anything…” He’s being reasonable; Natalie knows he is, nevertheless…

“Charles, I slipped getting out of the shower. If either you or Erik come through that door I will personally make sure that you spend the rest of the week thinking you are five years old!”

“Natalie…” Charles starts to argue.

“Getting out of the shower…” She repeats, emphasising the last word, hoping Charles will get her point without her having to spell it out. Because, from where she’s sat, awkwardly propped up against the wall, Natalie can see her towel and dressing gown, lying just out of reach, and whenever she tries to move her head starts pounding. She hates to admit it, but she does need help, and while she’s not shy about her body (being on the run with the remains of the Xavier Institute left little space for privacy and even less for being self-conscious about the lack of privacy), this isn’t her body and the whole situation is just so undignified that the last thing her battered pride needs is Charles’ pity or Erik’s amusement at finding her naked and bruised on the bathroom floor.

There’s a brief silence as her meaning sets in. “I’ll get Moira to come up.” Charles says eventually, his voice tight with embarrassment. Natalie can feel Erik’s amusement through the door, though whether it’s at her situation or at Charles’ reaction to it she can’t be completely sure. For the sake of her own temper she decides to assume it’s the latter.

“Thank you!” She says shortly, leaning her head back against the cold wall, closing her eyes and hoping the throbbing in her head will fade soon.

It feels like a lifetime later when Moira slips in through the door, first aid kit in hand. The CIA agent wordlessly picks up the towel as she passes it and hands it to a grateful Natalie. As Moira checks Natalie over in silence, Natalie finds herself relaxing slightly: Moira’s calm, professional, manner is soothing on Natalie’s frayed temper.

“Well, nothing appears to be broken,” Moira says after a several minutes of careful inspection. “And, it doesn’t look like you have a concussion, just a few bruises and a couple of sprains.”

“And a battered ego.” Natalie adds under her breath.

Moira frowns. “What happened?” And, when Moira asks that question it doesn’t nettle Natalie’s pride.

Natalie sighs and starts to push herself up into standing position before being stopped by a firm hand from Moira, who insists on wrapping a supportive bandage around her sprained wrist and ankle first.

“I slipped getting out of the shower.” Natalie explains, as Moira starts to unravel the bandages from the first aid kit. It’s a sparse explanation and the look Moira gives Natalie makes it clear that the CIA agent is well aware that there is more to it than that. But, she doesn’t say anything, just sets about bandaging Natalie’s ankle and waits for the empath to crack under the strain of the silence.

Natalie doesn’t say anything for a long time. She watches as Moira carefully and professionally bandages her ankle and then starts to work on her wrist. Eventually Natalie bites her lip and lets out a breath. “This isn’t my body.” She says in a small voice. Moira glances up at her but doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently as Natalie tries to find the words to explain. “It’s not the body I grew up in, and it’s so different, I keep dropping things or tripping. I just want my old body back, my old life back, back from before the world went to hell! But I can’t have it back, I can’t go back. That future is gone now and I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life in this body, in this time, and I don’t know if I can do it. I’m supposed to be saving the world, but I can’t even get out of the shower without injuring myself!” It all pours out in a jumbled, emotional, rant and Natalie hates that, hates that she appears weak and emotional, vulnerable.

“I’m sorry.” Natalie apologises as Moira’s silence stretches on. “You didn’t need to hear all that.”

The other woman frowns and sits back on her heels. “Don’t apologise.” She says firmly. “After everything you’ve been through you don’t need to apologise for complaining a bit. But you’re wrong: you’re not the one who’s supposed to be saving the world,” Natalie looks up and frowns, about to say something, when Moira holds up her hand and finishes what she was going to say, “we’re all supposed to be saving the world. Don’t take this burden all on yourself, let us help you. Trust us.”

Natalie smiles wryly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

“… but you don’t trust us.” Moira finishes with a matching smile.

Natalie laughs softly. “More I don’t trust Erik and Charles not to be idiots.”

“They’ll pull through.” Moira says firmly.

“I know,” Natalie agrees sombrely. “But… well I need to be sure.”

Moira nods in understanding. “You can’t help them if you don’t look after yourself, though.”

“I’ll try not to fall out of any more showers.” Natalie assures her in her driest tone.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Natalie looks up, frowning.

“You can’t keep bottling everything up, hiding it away and not expect to explode at some point. And the last thing we need at the moment is for you to explode.”

Natalie stares at Moira, momentarily speechless and feeling strangely disorientated: Natalie should be the one saying things like that; she’s the empath, or she was before she switched Courtney’s power for her own, and she was always the one preaching about accepting your emotions, respecting them and living with them rather than suppressing them – when did she lose that? Was it during the war? Was it when David died? She isn’t sure, it might have been a gradual thing, but it’s one more part of herself that she’s lost. And this part is one that she knows she’ll need to get back at some point.

Either Moira’s misunderstood Natalie’s silence or she’s decided to ignore it, because after a moment the CIA agent offers another piece of advice: “Have you considered talking to Raven? If anyone could understand what it’s like to be walking around in a body that’s not their own, she would.”

Natalie continues to stare at Moira, though this time in surprise with more than a hint of thoughtful: that might not be such a bad idea.

  XXXXXX

The knock on Raven’s bedroom door is timid. So, when the shape-shifter opens the door to find Natalie standing on the other side she is somewhat surprised: up until this point the woman has been everything but timid. There is a moment of awkward silence as Natalie shifts uncomfortably, before the telepath finally voices her reason for being there: “Can I borrow some clothes? I’ve run out. I mean Moira bought me some when we were at the CIA base, but she only picked up one set of spare stuff when we left. I know I could just wash it, obviously, but it seems a bit ridiculous to have to wash stuff every other day, so I thought I’d just come and ask if you had anything I could borrow.”

By the time Natalie has finished her rambling explanation Raven is staring at her like she’s grown a second head: rambling and unsure are _not_ words Raven would have ever have thought to associate with the woman standing in front of her, at least not before today.

“Um, sure.” Raven feels herself thrown by Natalie’s uncharacteristic behaviour. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll see what I can find?” Raven waves Natalie into the room, and the telepath takes the offered perch on the bed while Raven makes her way over to the wardrobe.

“What about this?” Raven asks pulling a black and white dress out of the wardrobe and holding it up for Natalie to see.

Natalie shrugs, her face twisting into a rueful grin. “I honestly don’t know. I’m not exactly used to dressing this body.”

Raven frowns, she hadn’t thought about that, hasn’t really considered that Natalie is wearing Courtney’s body, hasn’t stopped and thought about what that really means. She hesitates, knowing it’s a question that it probably isn’t polite to ask, but she just can’t help herself: “What did you use to look like?”

Natalie just looks at her for a moment, her face not quite frowning, and then wordlessly she pushes herself up off the bed and walks over to the full length mirror hiding in the corner of the room. She stops in front of it and then without saying a word, or turning to look at Raven, the telepath holds out a hand to the shape-shifter. Raven puts the dress down, crosses the room and puts her hand in Natalie’s. Then she turns to face the mirror.

For a moment it shows their reflection; the blonde Raven and the Brown-Haired Natalie, and then Natalie’s reflection changes and shifts. It grows taller, fuller, grows in every direction until in place of the skinny, brown-haired, wraith is a curvy, bubbly, blonde woman. She smiles and her blue eyes sparkle in her round face, the dressing gown has disappeared and she is wearing a dress that wouldn’t look too out of place in the 1950s; full skirted and strap-less, but the forget-me-not blue makes it look fresh and bright – makes her look bright and alive. For a brief moment that bright Natalie smiles and swings her skirt, and then she shifts again, shifts and fades and shrinks, drops the puppy fat, loses unhealthy amounts of weight and gains lines under her eyes and all across her face: lines that tell too many tales of stress and pain. There’s a AK-47 slung over one shoulder and the trousers and jacket she’s wearing have no distinguishing features other than that they’re indistinguishable underneath the mud and stains (some of which look suspiciously like blood). This Natalie isn’t smiling, she’s staring straight ahead, eyes intense and frightened. She stares at Raven for a moment and then she’s gone and Raven is once again looking at the Natalie she recognises; the Natalie that used to be Courtney Stevens.

There’s a very long silence and then Natalie drops Raven’s hand and turns her back on the shape shifter – on the shape shifter and the mirror.

“I’m sorry.” Raven apologises to Natalie’s back, in a small voice.

Natalie turns back to face the shape-shifter. She forces a thin smile and shrugs. “Don’t apologise. It was a fair question.”

“No it wasn’t.”

Natalie smiles again, and this time it is genuine smile: soft and sad. “No it wasn’t. But I don’t mind you asking” Perching herself back down on the edge of the bed, Natalie looks over at Raven, her gaze now piercingly intense. “Now, fair’s fair, why don’t you show me what you really look like?”

Raven frowns, suddenly very self-conscious, but, after what she has just asked of Natalie, it’s not really a request Raven can refuse. So, Raven turns away slightly, so she’s no longer looking straight at Natalie – and so she can no longer see her reflection in the mirror – and she changes. She lets go of her concentration, her control and lets her body slip back to her natural shape, her natural shade. It’s a strange feeling, like she’s just taken off a suit of armour, like she’s suddenly exposed – she might still be wearing a dress, but Raven feels suddenly naked.

“Do you like how you look?” Natalie asks the question neutrally after several seconds of Raven not quite looking at her.

Raven frowns and turns to face Natalie, suddenly annoyed. “I’m blue.” She says flatly.

“And?” Natalie asks blandly as if she can’t see the problem with being blue.

“I’m blue! I look like a monster, like something mothers would use to scare their children!”

Natalie frowns at that. “I think you’re exaggerating somewhat.” She stands up and gently taking a hold of the young woman’s shoulder turns her to face the mirror. Natalie stands next to Raven as the two women study Raven’s reflection – she is very definitely blue. “A hundred years ago” Natalie says slowly, “pale skin was considered beautiful, nowadays tanned skin is what women strive for. In ancient China small feet and large eyes were necessary for a woman to be considered beautiful, in Ancient Egypt it was a high waist and narrow shoulders, in the renaissance it was a rounded stomach and full hips, while in the roaring twenties it was a boyish figure that was most desired. The meaning of “beautiful” has changed depending where you are in the world and what time in history it is. Beauty is a social construct. And right now this country is going through a lot of social changes: the civil rights movement, Second-Wave feminism. People’s attitudes towards lots of things are going to change over the coming years, don’t assume they can’t also change to accommodate you as well.”

“I thought you said that in the future humans were at war with mutants – that doesn’t sound very accommodating to me.”

“Yes, well,” Natalie tries not to frown, because really Raven does have a bit of a point though not as much of a point as she thinks she does. “The early Mutants’ Right movement went about things the wrong way,” – Erik went about things the wrong way – “Some humans became convinced we were a threat. Not all by a long shot, many humans supported us, fought with us… died with us…” Natalie takes a breath, a brief pause to push down the tears before they can well up at the thought of one particular human. “But, well, enough of them felt threatened by us...” Natalie trails off slightly, takes another breath and then looks directly at Raven. “It’s not going to happen that way this time though, I won’t let it.” There is steel in those last few words and Raven feels a brief thrill of fear, fear and respect: It is clear that Natalie will do everything she can to protect mutantkind, to ensure they are accepted into society and how can Raven not respect that?

“How are you going to stop it?”

“We should focus on stopping Shaw from a starting a nuclear war before we start looking that far ahead.” Natalie brushes off Raven’s question, pushes it away for now, because in all honesty she hasn’t thought that far ahead! Ever since David died she’s been acting on instinct pure and simple: she knows that by coming back in time she _can_ save the future but as for _how_ she’ll go about preventing the war with the Sentinels…. God she doesn’t know! She really hasn’t thought this through! She’s supposed to be saving the world and it turns out she’s making it up as she goes along! Lord alive, what she needs is time. Time to sit and think, to plan and work out what to do and really it’s not such a problem that she hasn’t thought things through yet: they have years before Trask Industries starts the Sentinel Program. What they need to focus on for the moment is Shaw and Cuba. Unfortunately, Raven doesn’t see it that way….

“How are we going to stop humans thinking mutants are a threat?” Raven repeats, though this time Natalie notices the use of the word ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ and she pauses before brushing off the question for a second time: there’s a look in Raven’s eyes that makes Natalie want to frown. It’s a look that’s equal parts respect, hope and a burning desire to do something, be something… to belong…

It’s a look that in another future Raven levelled at Erik.

That realisation hits Natalie like a stab of victory because keeping Raven from joining Erik’s Mutant Brotherhood is as important as making sure Erik doesn’t found it in the first place. And, if in this future Raven transfers her respect, her loyalty, to Natalie instead of Erik then Natalie can steer her away from extremism, keep her on the right path, make sure she does the right thing. The sense of victory is snuffed out: she is considering manipulating a young woman, for the ‘greater good’ – how does that make Natalie any better than Erik? Yes, Natalie likes to think she would keep Raven from becoming a cold blooded killer. But, in all honesty Natalie knows her own morals have been compromised by the war: Can she really guarantee that she won’t become like Magneto?

“Natalie?”

Natalie blinks and realises that she’s been quiet, been lost in her thoughts, for too long. “Sorry.” She says. “I drifted off for a moment there: there’s a lot going on in my head at the moment.”

Raven nods slowly, though with a slight frown: a tendency to drift off is not a trait you really want in someone trying to save your species… “I asked how you were going to stop human from thinking that mutants are a threat…”

Natalie notices the return to ‘you’ rather than ‘we’ and resists the urge to sigh: one step forward, another step back…


	11. Chapter 11

Natalie sits herself back down on the bed and looks up at Raven. Raven, who is looking at Natalie as if she can’t work out whether the telepath is the answer to all her prayers, or a fraud pretending to be something she’s not. Natalie isn’t sure how to proceed with Raven. With Erik and Charles it’s easier, Natalie has their memories in her head and therefore knows what the motivation behind their actions was and knows what the thought process was - at least in the version of events that happened in Natalie’s future. But with Raven… with Raven all she has is The Professor’s and Magneto’s memories of her and both of those men had rather tinted views of Raven. They both looked at her through the lens of their own experience, both seeing different things and never quite seeing all of her.

Like with many things, when it came to Raven, Magento and The Professor were both right and both wrong.

Which means Natalie is pretty much walking blind when it comes to Raven (doubly so without her empathy). All Natalie really has to her advantage is three years of experience with teenage mutants from teaching at the Xavier Institute: all of those kids might have been unique individuals, but they all had common worries and fears. And one of those fears is about belonging…

“You want to know how we stop humanity from thinking that we’re enough of a threat that they need to exterminate every last one of us. Well, in all honesty I don’t know for sure. All I know for sure is what went wrong last time, and all I can suggest is that we do everything we can to show them we’re not a threat.”

“How do we do that?”

“We show them that we’re just like them; that we believe in right and wrong like them; that we enjoy the same things they do, that we laugh and love and bleed and live just like them. We show them there is nothing to be afraid of.”

“How?” Raven is clearly interested in Natalie’s answer to that question – so is Natalie, as she is currently making this stuff up on the spot!

“We start by showing them we not afraid of ourselves. We start by finding you a dress you would be happy to walk down the street in.” Natalie feels a sense of relief as she finds a way to turn the conversation back to Raven and her body confidence issues, back to safer ground: this isn’t the first time she’s had a conversation with a teenage girl about her looks and society’s expectations of beauty – admittedly she’s never had this conversation with a girl who is blue before, but the principle is the same.

“I walk down the street all the time.”

“Not wearing your own face you don’t.”

“You want me to go out in public like this?” Natalie may not be an empath anymore but the fear and apprehension on Raven’s face is clear.

“Isn’t that what you want? To be able to walk around as you, rather than wearing someone else’s face?”

“Yes, but…”

“I know.” Natalie assures her gently. “It won’t be easy, and I’m not asking you to do it today. In fact I’m not asking you to do it all if you don’t want to. But, nobody out there is going to accept you if you don’t accept yourself. And I assure you that every woman has hang-ups about her body – not as extreme as yours I accept, but the principle is still the same. And for every woman there is dress or an outfit in which they can feel so much themselves that they look in the mirror and say ‘Yes, that is me and that is the person I want the rest of the world to see’. The trick is finding the right outfit.”

“Are you saying that I just need to find the right dress and suddenly everyone will think I’m beautiful?” Raven’s tone is understandably disbelieving.

“No, I’m saying you find the right dress and then you will start to feel beautiful. And that will shine through and other people will start to see it.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in a dress.” Raven’s scepticism is clear in her tone. Natalie resists the urge to sigh.

“It’s not just about the dress, it’s about the process of finding the dress, of realising that changing what you are wearing can make you look different, feel different, that an outfit can be like wearing a mask – it can make you look and act like a stranger, or it can help the rest of the world see who you really are inside.” It may seem frivolous to some, but changing what you’re wearing _can_ make you feel different.

Raven’s scepticism hasn’t disappeared yet though.

“Look,” Natalie says trying a slightly different approach. “Why don’t you try on some of the clothes you already have, and we’ll see what they look like when you’re blue?”

Natalie’s cunning plan doesn’t work: Raven tries on about a dozen different outfits and none of them look right on her, no doubt because they were picked out for someone with blonde hair and white skin – red hair and blue skin is going to need a completely different colour scheme.

“I told you.” Raven says the words quietly and Natalie’s heart breaks a little for her – nobody should feel they look like a monster.

“The problem isn’t you Raven, it’s the clothes.” Natalie says gently but firmly. “These are designed for someone with blonde hair and blue eyes, most of them don’t even fit your natural body shape properly. What you need is new clothes.” Natalie glances down at the dressing gown she’s still wearing and remembers her original excuse for visiting Raven. “We both need new clothes.”

Raven frowns. “We’re supposed to be training in order to prevent a nuclear war, and you want to go shopping?”

Natalie smiles slightly: it does sound ridiculous, but… “The psychological aspect of training is as important as the physical, and right now I need to get my head around the fact that I’m going to be spending the rest of my life in this body and you need to start accepting that you’re blue – because you’re going to need all your concentration in Cuba and if half your mind is working on keeping you looking ‘normal’ or feeling self-conscious because you’re in your natural form and you’re not used to it, well, then you’ll be distracted. And being distracted in a situation like Cuba can be the difference between life and death.”

Raven nods slowly: that does make a sort of sense. Then she pauses and asks in a voice that is half disbelieving, half hopeful. “Did you find your dress? In your old body I mean. Did you find the outfit that made you feel beautiful?”

A bitter-sweet smile creases Natalie’s face at that question: as she remembers a forget-me-not blue dress and walks in the park with a handsome young human. “Yes, Yes I did.”

XXXXXX

The rest of the household (minus Hank - who is off somewhere tinkering with something) are in the kitchen discussing the plan for today’s training, when Raven sticks her head around the door.

“Charles, I’m stealing your cheque book!” She announces.

“Wait. What? Why?” Setting down his glass of juice Charles frowns in confusion: this is hardly the first time Raven has announced her intention to make ample use of Charles’ bank accounts, but Charles is somewhat confused by the timing: they’re supposed to be training so that they can stop the world from ending, now hardly seems like an appropriate time to go shopping.

“Natalie and I are going shopping. She doesn’t have anything to wear.”

“Ok…” Charles says slowly. “And she can’t borrow any of your clothes?” He asks: Natalie does not seem like a woman who is overly bothered about what she wears, at least not when the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

“I could yes. But that’s not really the point” Natalie says appearing in the doorway behind Raven. One hand is stuffed into the pockets of a pair of trousers that are clearly Raven’s and clearly too big for Natalie, the other is holding a wooden walking stick that she appears to have purloined from the stand in the hallway.

“The point?” Charles asks.

“Charles, I’m wearing a borrowed body with borrowed powers. Wearing borrowed clothes on top of that...” Natalie shifts slightly, uncomfortable with all the gazes focused on her. “Well, I’m finding it a little difficult at the moment to hold onto what makes me… well… me. And, I can’t properly help you save the world if I lose myself along the way.”

There’s a long moment after that admission where everyone just stares at Natalie; some eyes have pity in them, some have other emotions, but none of them make Natalie comfortable. She grits her teeth and bites back the urge to snap at them to stop staring. But, before the moment stretches on too long, before the last shreds of Natalie’s short patience snap, Raven – God Bless her – steps in and draws the attention away from Natalie.

“So, Charles, the cheque book’s still in the roll-top desk?”

“What? Oh, yes…”

“Cool! We’ll be back for dinner! Moira do you want to come?” Raven bounces the question out to the CIA agent but doesn’t wait for an answer before disappearing through the doorway. Natalie shrugs but sends a smile towards Moira – letting her know that the other woman _is_ more than welcome to join them – before following Raven out into the corridor.

_Please go with them. Keep an eye on them._

Charles sends the thought to Moira as she hesitates – Charles will feel much happier if Moira goes with them, it’s not that he doesn’t trust Natalie, but… well… he’d rather the time-traveller wasn’t left alone with his sister.

Moira catches Charles’ eye and smiles slightly. “I’ll keep them out of trouble, don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” Charles says sincerely. Moira gives him another smile and then disappears after the other two women. Charles watches her go.

“I would expect to see a very large dent in your bank balance after they get back.” Erik observes dryly.

Charles smiles. “It would hardly be the first time, my friend.”

XXXXXX

“What’s this really about?” Moira asks Natalie a few hours later while Raven is occupied searching through clothes rails in one of Westchester’s more exclusive boutiques.

Natalie looks at the other woman for a long moment, considering whether to lie or not, whether to maintain the fiction. She decides she respects Moira too much to do that. “It’s about Cuba.” She says quietly, watching the blonde Raven pile her arms high with clothes, both for herself and for Natalie. “Right now everything’s about Cuba.”

Moira nods slowly, the image of Raven walking away with Erik, of her leaving Charles bleeding in the sand, shines bright in her mind’s eye. This is one manipulation the CIA agent heartily approves of; far better that she and Natalie are the ones to encourage Raven’s self-confidence than leaving it to Erik.

And, as she watches Natalie and Raven discuss whether red or yellow will suit Raven’s blue skin better, as the two younger women laugh at something and then turn and drag Moira into their conversation and their laughter, Moira feels her heart lift and her hopes rise: maybe they will be able to change the future after all.

XXXXXX

About an hour after the girls leave, Sean is wishing he had gone with them.  Alex, however is somewhat amused (and though he would never admit it, slightly worried), after all stood in front of him is Sean being buckled into some ridiculous contraption that Hank has put together as Charles looks on intently.   Are they seriously expecting Sean to jump out of a window?  He’s not convinced that the ridiculous outfit will make a difference.

“And you’re sure that this will work?” Sean sounds, understandably, nervous.

“Anything is possible. I based the design…” Christ… Hank really needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut – that is not reassuring!

“It will work.” Charles assures Sean.

“Yeah? What, are you from the future now too?” There is sarcasm in Alex’s voice but also curiosity: if Natalie really is from the future then in theory she would know whether Sean’s machine will work or not.

“No, Alex I’m not. But, Natalie showed us some of her future and it will work.” Charles replies, diplomatically ignoring the sarcasm in Alex’s tone.

“What else did she show you?” Sean’s question causes Erik and Charles to freeze for the briefest of moments before they try to feign nonchalance.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks the teen in his best attempt at casual, which is apparently not very good – Raven is right: Charles is a _terrible_ liar.

“You and Erik have been acting weird ever since we got here. It’s something to do with Natalie isn’t it?” Sean says, demonstrating greater observation skills than most people give him credit for.

“She told us that in 50 years’ time humanity is going to try and wipe us mutants off the face of the planet. That is enough to unsettle anyone.” Erik points out dryly - now, Erik is a good liar, and in this case executes a flawless performance of nonchalance. Unfortunately for Erik, Charles has already given him away.

“Nah, this is something more personal. You two used to be joined at the hip and now you can barely look at each other.”

Almost as if to prove Alex wrong, Charles and Erik share a look.

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Charles says firmly, turning back to face Alex.

“Really, cos it’s got you both wound rather tight for something that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter, because it isn’t going to happen this time around, isn’t that right Erik?”

It isn’t going to happen this time around, not if Erik has anything to do about it, but there’s something in the way Charles says it… in the way he says it and then the way he turns to look at Erik, as if he’s shifting all the blame for what happened onto Erik’s shoulders that puts Erik’s back up, that makes him hesitate for just a moment before replying. Because, while Erik is man enough to admit that he (or his future self) is at least partially responsible for Charles being shot, he is not _entirely_ responsible: he is not the one who fired the gun and he is not the one who tried to justify the behaviour of the kind of men who ‘just follow orders’.

“Erik?”

It’s the worry in Charles’ voice that brings Erik out of his thoughts and the metal-bender realises he’s been quiet for too long – what will the children think? He glances over at Charles, a hint of fear in the his eyes (he does _not_ want the children to know what he did in that other future), but the fear quickly morphs into relief as Erik realises that Charles has frozen the boys: there is Alex with his mouth half open, as if he’s about to say something, Hank with his face creased into that near perpetual frown of his and Sean with his arm half in the sleeve of that ridiculous suit. Even frozen though, they’re all looking straight at Erik and the looks in those eyes… God, they look up to him and Charles, he can see that, that they respect and admire the two older mutants. In this misfit band of mutants Charles and Erik are the parental figures, Erik has always known that, but… now, he knows how much it will hurt to lose that respect.

“Do we need to have a conversation, Erik?” Charles’ tone is uncharacteristically hard and Erik realises that he _still_ hasn’t answered Charles’ question: still hasn’t confirmed that he will do everything in his power to stop Charles being paralyzed.

“Not now, Charles.”  Erik needs time to think, to process everything he’s seen of the future, to work out what needs to be done and he knows that if he has this conversation with Charles now, there is a chance he will say things that both of them will regret.

“Why not? The boys aren’t going to interrupt us.”

Erik frowns at that: sometimes the scale of Charles’ arrogance when using his telepathy is breath-taking. “Do you often freeze everyone around you just so you can have a private conversation?”

“More often than you might think.” Charles replies dryly. There is a pause while Erik tries to work out if Charles really understands the magnitude of the manipulation – the violation – that he is performing on the boys by freezing them. And then there is a feeling of equal parts guilt and anger, because despite the moral ambiguity of the situation Erik is grateful that the boys are currently oblivious to the tension between their two mentors; that they are still unaware of the atrocities that Erik is capable of. Again, the pause goes on for too long and a hard edge creeps back into Charles’ tone. “Erik, I think we need _do_ to have a conversation at some point.”

“Maybe,” Erik says – more to get Charles to drop the subject than because he necessarily agrees – “but not now. For the moment we need to concentrate on throwing Sean out of a window.” Erik tries for a hint of humour, tries to lighten the tone – the frown on Charles’ face suggests that might not have been the wisest move.

Still frowning Charles inclines his head slightly, allowing Erik to defer this conversation, however… “I’m not going to let this go, Erik. We _are_ going to have this conversation.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, my friend” Despite those last two words, Erik’s tone is not particularly friendly – the metal-bender does not like feeling like he is being backed into a corner.

Charles’ frown deepens, but he chooses to leave it for now. “Remember, if you don’t want the boys to continue asking questions, then the moment I unfreeze them you should probably say ‘Yes, It’s not going to happen that way’.”

XXXXXX

“Charles is right. It is not going to happen this time. Now, aren’t we supposed to be throwing someone out of a window?”

There is something in Erik’s tone that wasn’t in Charles’ – or maybe it’s just because it’s Erik rather than Charles and their respect for Erik has a tiny bit of fear mixed with it (a fear that isn’t there in their respect for Charles) – but, the boys don’t push the topic any further.

Sean is pale as they all shuffle over to the windows. Erik gives the boy’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he moves past him and joins Alex at the neighbouring window – he will leave the rest of the reassurances to Charles.

“Now, remember.” Charles says when they are all in position. “Scream as hard as you can.”

“You need the sound waves to be supersonic.” Hank explains. “Catch them at the right angle and they should carry you.”

“They should carry me. That’s reassuring.”

“They will carry you” Charles assures him. “Now, Good luck. And don’t forget to scream.”

A scream and a thud later and the four mutants are looking at the sight of Sean face down in the shrubbery.

“So… Natalie said it would work?” Alex asks caustically.

“I’m sure with a few refinements it will work perfectly…” Charles says, trying to keep his own doubt out of his voice.


	12. Chapter 12

The Natalie who walks back into the mansion that evening is a different woman from the one who left it this morning. Superficially she looks completely different; the long brown hair has been cropped so short it only just covers her ears and she’s wearing a pair of denim jeans that tightly hug her thin frame, a plain white shirt and a slightly loose black leather jacket – she has _not_ gone for the hippie flower-child look. The pair of high heels that complete the outfit are a bit ambitious considering her current balance problems, but in for a penny in for a pound, and besides they’re not really _that_ high, not compared to some of the monstrosities she wore in her student days. But, it’s not just the outside that’s different, the conversations with Moira and Raven earlier today, and the ritual of choosing clothes, of stamping her own mark, her own look, on this body has made her feel more herself than she has since she woke up in that hospital room.

The outfit is not like anything she used to wear in her old body, but that’s fine, in fact it’s more than fine, because she is not that woman any more. She never will be again. Even if by some miracle she got her own body back she could never again be the same Natalie who wore vintage dresses and strolled hand-in-hand through the park with a handsome young human: she’s been through too much to ever be that person again. So, it is best to accept that, to let go of the person she was and become the person she is now. And, superficial as it is, the new outfit helps with that: it gives this new Natalie some definition, a frame to build her new self around – and more importantly, perhaps, it signals a clear break from the past.

And as for Raven… well... on the outside Raven doesn’t look any different: all blonde hair and blue eyes. Apart from the large number of shopping bags she is now carrying, there is no obvious change from the young woman who walked out the door this morning… However, Natalie knows things are different from how they look; it’s subtle and fragile and could so easily be destroyed by a careless comment or thoughtless remark but the shapeshifter is holding her head a little higher, walking with a little more surety in her step. And, while there is still a way to go before Raven is sure enough in herself to walk down the street wearing her own face, Natalie is confident that one day she will be. Because, in the battle for Raven’s self-confidence they now have a secret weapon: it had been hidden in the back of the last shop they had visited and it would have gone unnoticed if it hadn’t been for Moira, but they have found Raven’s dress!

  XXXXXX

Alex is the first person the three women come across after they return to the mansion. The double-take and whistle that he gives when he spots them makes the feminist in Natalie want to roll her eyes, but the rest of her appreciates the compliment.

“Looks like you girls had fun.”

Actually, yes, they had had fun – it wasn’t what Natalie had set out to do, and it might seem a bit inappropriate given that they’re less than a week away from the possible end of the world, but the three of them had had a good time. “Yeah, you could say that. What about you? Get up to much while we gone?”

“We threw Sean out of a window.” Alex says nonchalantly. Raven and Moira look suddenly very concerned – what have the boys been up to? Natalie just frowns thoughtfully.

“It didn’t work, did it?”

Alex gives the woman a dark look. “No, but I guess you already knew that.” The teen’s tone is scathing.

“Yeah, sorry.” Natalie replies, choosing to ignore the hostility in Alex’s voice. “I could have saved you some time there: he needs to jump from higher up so that there’s more time before he hits the ground – similar to a parachute only working above a certain height.”

“Yeah, you could of told us that before.”

Which is exactly what Natalie just said… “I’m sorry.” She says in a tone that makes the words more of a rebuke than an apology. “There’s a lot going on in my head at the moment. The odd thing is going to slip through the cracks.”

“That’s reassuring!”

“Alex…” Moira’s tone holds a warning - a warning which from Alex’s expression he is clearly considering not heeding. So, Natalie speaks before the teenager can say anything more.

“Raven and I are going to put our stuff away and then we’ll join the rest of you in the study.” Her words have a finality to them: she is shutting down this conversation before Alex can turn it into an argument.

Moira and Alex head towards the study while Natalie and Raven make their way up the stairs towards their respective bedrooms and the wardrobes within them that are waiting to be filled with their new purchases. At the top of the stairs Natalie pauses and turns to Raven.

“Why don’t you try on that dress we found and show it off? I’m sure Charles - and Hank - would love to see you in it!”

Raven blushes at the reference to Hank and Natalie fights back a flutter of unease: Hank could potentially be the undoing of all their hard work with Raven’s self-confidence.

“Do you think I should?” Raven asks in a tone that says she knows what she should do, but doesn’t know if she has the courage to actually do it.

Natalie shrugs. “It’s your choice of course, but nobody in this house is going to hold your skin colour against you, and if you can’t feel comfortable being yourself in here then you’ll never feel comfortable out in the wide world.”

As they both head off to their respective rooms, there is a look on Raven’s face that is somewhere between terror and excitement, but with an undercurrent of determination. Natalie smiles to herself: it looks like it may have been a successful day.

  XXXXXX

Charles glances up as Moira enters the study, and offers the CIA agent a broad smile. He gets a small smile in return, but it’s genuine and happy and that is enough to give Charles a warm feeling inside. 

Charles ignores the knowing smirk that creeps onto Erik’s face as Moira sets herself down on the sofa next to Charles: this morning’s conversation still hangs too heavy over Charles’ mind for him to be amused by any teasing from Erik.

Moira asks a question about their day and Charles’ attention switches back to the CIA agent as Sean launches into an in-depth description of their exploits (the teen is surprisingly sanguine about the fact that he spent most of the afternoon pulling bits of shrubbery out of his hair and discovering new bruises from his first – entirely downward – attempt at flight). Charles is only half listening to what Sean is saying – he had been there after all – instead, he finds himself watching Moira as she listens attentively to Sean, and then Alex when the older teen joins in the conversation; she really is a remarkable woman.

The conversation falters briefly when Natalie enters the room – it doesn’t take a telepath to see that Alex holds her responsible for all of Sean’s bruises. Sean, however, doesn’t seem to. A tactful question from Moira about their plans for tomorrow – Hank is designing a machine to help Alex focus his powers, which should be ready soon - successfully revives the conversation though as Natalie takes a seat in the empty armchair next to Erik.

Erik. Charles has been trying not to dwell on their argument this morning, but it’s difficult not to, considering Erik’s apparent apathy towards Charles being paralyzed. No, worse than apathy, if Erik had simply been apathetic he would have just said whatever Charles had wanted to hear. Instead, the metal-bender had refused to commit to preventing Charles’ paralysis. When Natalie had first shown them the future, first shown them what Erik would become, Charles hadn’t been able to see that man, see Magneto, in the friend he knew. Now, every time Charles looks at Erik he sees more and more of Magneto. For a moment the fleeting fear crosses Charles mind: _what if they can’t change the future? What if Erik is doomed to become Magneto?_

  XXXXXX

Natalie picks up that stray thought from Charles and has to resist the urge to frown, because if she frowns then Charles will know that she’s eavesdropping. It’s not entirely deliberate of course; she’s still getting her head around the telepathic shields that are necessary to prevent other people’s thoughts from intruding into her head – not that she can take all the blame: Charles should know better than to broadcast his thoughts so loudly with another telepath around. Alright, in all honesty she hasn’t exactly put much effort into keeping her shields up properly; catching glimpses of other people’s thoughts gives her an edge. Yes, it’s morally wrong but there’s a lot at stake right now. And without her empathy she feels like she’s half blind: emotions and intentions that she used to be able to sense, those signals that used to forewarn her of what someone was feeling or what they might be about to do, are gone. And, the telepathy helps fill that gap in her senses….

Except, well it doesn’t, not really… telepathy and empathy are similar yes: people don’t just think with thoughts, with words or images, they think with emotions too. Every person is a complex mix of their conscious thoughts and their subconscious emotions. And that there is the main difference between telepathy and empathy: telepathy tends to involve the conscious thoughts while empathy has more to do with the subconscious. Except that’s not entirely true either: a well-trained telepath can dive into someone’s subconscious and a well-trained empath can become so good at reading emotions that they can guess with a high level of accuracy what someone is thinking on a conscious level. Experience tends to narrow the gap between telepathy and empathy.

But, can never quite close it.

And right now Natalie would trade her right arm to get her empathy back: here she is trying to guide two emotionally complex people through a defining point in their timeline and she is essentially doing it blind. Cuba is more about emotions than conscious thought. It’s about the relationship between Erik and Charles, (and the relationship between Erik and humanity), but on a deep emotional level, not on the logical conscious level. Natalie needs to guide them through the emotional quagmire that is Cuba and she can’t see to navigate! She’s sailing in the dark and the only reason she’s been getting away with it so far is that she knows Erik and Charles: she has their memories inside her head. But, the more the timelines split, the more Erik and Charles change as people, the less use those memories are going to be, and the more she’ll have to rely on telepathy and normal things like body language (a skill she is not in the habit of using!). It’s only now, when she doesn’t have it, that Natalie is starting to realise just how heavily she relied on her empathy. Maybe she should spend some time getting used to her new telepathy, maybe she can go through the memories from The Professor and Courtney that are in Natalie’s head, see if those two telepaths had any tricks Natalie can use. See if she can’t find a crutch to at least partially replace her missing empathy…

A long, low, wolf-whistle from Alex interrupts Natalie’s thoughts and draws everyone’s attention to Raven’s arrival. And for that honest reaction, Natalie could kiss Alex: the little bashful smile that appears on Raven’s face is priceless. It’s hard to tell with her blue skin but Natalie’s willing to bet that Raven is blushing as well.

Raven stands hesitantly in the doorway, as blue as the day she was born and wearing a dress that, while slightly old-fashioned for the’60s, is the perfect shade of red to match her hair. The cinched in waist, full skirt and halter neck are all hallmarks of the ‘50s style dresses that Natalie loved to wear in her old body. Raven had been reluctant when Moira had first suggested she try it on, but now Natalie is glad that they insisted: Raven looks amazing. Both Alex and Sean are picking their teenage jaws up off the floor.

Natalie also notices the look of appreciation in Erik’s eyes…

_You know, social convention states that your best friend’s sister is off limits._

All credit to the metal-bender; he doesn’t give any outward reaction to hearing her voice in his head.

_She’s a little young for me, don’t you think?_ He thinks, knowing she will be listening. Natalie is impressed by how clearly the thought comes across, at how quickly Erik has adapted to communicating with telepaths: he’s only known Charles for a few months after all.

_So long as you remember that…_

Erik’s brow creases slightly into a frown, but any further mental conversation is interrupted by Alex declaring his appreciation for Raven’s new dress.

“Bloody hell! Hank would have to be a complete bozo not to jump you looking like that!”

Charles has to frown at the crudity of Alex’s words – Raven is his sister after all – but the overall sentiment he can’t help but agree with. Charles stands up and moves across the room to give Raven a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “While I object to the way he phrased it – Alex is right, any man would be a fool to turn you down: you look stunning!”

“Really?” Raven suddenly sounds like a small child, seeking reassurance. Charles has spent so long telling her to hide this face, trying to protect her, that as much as she had hoped for it, she had steeled herself not to expect his approval.

“Really!” He assures her.

She beams at him, gives him a quick peck on the cheek and then flounces out of the room to surprise Hank in the lab. Charles watches her go with a mixture of pride and nostalgia on his face: his little sister is growing up. And, there is relief too, relief and hope and fear, because Raven just asked for his opinion and Charles hopes she will still want to do that after Cuba. He fears that she won’t; that she will walk away from him whether he’s bleeding in the sand or not. And there is relief because there is a satisfied look on Natalie’s face, and because even with what little Charles knows about the days leading up to that other Cuba he knows that Natalie is working to change things. That thought is both terrifying and exhilarating because there is no way of knowing whether these changes will make things better or worse. But then Charles realises that in this moment it doesn’t matter: in this moment Raven is happy in her own skin and no matter what happens in the future, for better or for worse, this is a moment worth having.

Everyone in the room stares at the door for a few moments after Raven leaves, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Charles turns to Natalie. “Thank you.” He says quietly. She smiles, but instead of verbally acknowledging Charles’ thanks she leans back in her chair and addresses the two teenage boys who are still staring at the door in appreciative shock.

“Alex, Sean, would you mind following her, just in case Hank does turn out to be a bozo?” Natalie asks them smiling sweetly. The two teenagers exchange a look and even without her empathy Natalie picks up on the feelings of brotherly protection that suddenly spike around the two boys – when Raven does get a boyfriend he is going to have a lot of over-protective male mutants to deal with.

Once they’ve left the room Natalie’s face instantly turns serious. “Erik, would you close the door? I think it’s time the four of us talked about Cuba.”

  XXXXXX

After Erik has shut the door with a wave of his powers they all turn to look at Natalie.

“What precisely did you want to talk about?” Charles asks, returning to his seat on the sofa.

Natalie turns and looks straight at Charles, makes sure he’s meeting her gaze, and then says very firmly. “Shaw has to die.”

Charles frowns. “I thought you wanted to change the future.” His tone is reproachful.

“Not that. Shaw is far too dangerous.” Unfortunately, Charles has now got that stubborn set to his jaw which says that he completely disagrees with you and doesn’t see his position changing any time in the near future thank you very much. Natalie resists the urge to sigh. “You’ve seen the future – seen what ardent mutant supremacists push humanity to, and I assure you that even at his worst Magneto is a thousand times a better man than Shaw. You let Shaw live and he will spew his doctrine of mutant superiority far and wide and have us at war with humanity in two decades rather than five.” It’s a good argument, Natalie knows it is, but Charles is irritatingly stubborn and doesn’t look convinced. However, Natalie is distracted from arguing ethics with Charles when Erik speaks up.

“I agree that Shaw needs to die. But, I don’t see what your problem with the idea of mutant superiority is. We are the more evolved form, even Charles admits it.” God, sometimes Natalie just wants to grab Erik and slap him, or shake him, until she can make him see sense (she’d felt that urge with the older Magneto as well, on those days when she hadn’t been completely terrified of him). Why can’t Erik see that every time he talks about a ‘superior species’ he starts to sound like the people who put him in Auschwitz?

“That’s not what I meant!” Charles protests.

“If you’re referring to Charles’ thesis, you should know that his thesis is wrong.” Natalie’s deceptively calm statement heads off the brewing argument between Erik and Charles and instead turns their attention back to her.

“Excuse me?” Charles’ tone suggests he doesn’t know whether to be offended or amused by that claim.

“‘To _Homo neanderthalus,_ his mutant cousin, _Home sapiens_ , was an aberration.  Peaceful cohabitation, if it ever existed, was short-lived. Records show, without exception, that the arrival of the mutated human species in any region was followed by the immediate extinction of their less-evolved kin.’ - it’s not exactly correct...”

“I’m sorry, you memorised my thesis?”

“No! Not all of it…” She squirms slightly, embarrassed by the laughter in Charles’ voice. “It’s one of the seminal works on genetic mutation; I had to study it as a part of my PhD...”

“You have a PhD in genetics?” The eagerness in Charles’ voice at finding another academic to ‘talk shop’ with makes Erik want to roll his eyes.

“Biological Anthropology, and no,” Natalie seems to sink in on herself a little as she says the word. “I was studying for one but… well it got interrupted by the world going to hell… I never got around to finishing it...”

“I’m sorry.” And Charles really is, he’s an academic himself, he knows how much of a person’s life goes into a thesis, and to have it snatched away from you… well, it can’t be pleasant…

She gives a little half shrug. “It doesn’t matter; I’ve lost more important things…” Natalie tries to dismiss the loss of her PhD as insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and maybe it is, but it clearly matters to her and losing other things doesn’t make this loss hurt any less.

There’s a brief uncomfortable silence before Moira pulls the conversation back to Natalie’s original claim. “You were saying that Charles’ thesis is wrong…”

“Oh. Yes,” Natalie pulls herself back to her original point. “Neanderthals and Human did coexist, at least for a little while.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Erik is understandable sceptical: it is a bold claim.

“Because 3-6% of the DNA of all European Homo Sapiens comes directly from Neanderthals.”

There is silence for a long moment, and then….

“I’m sorry but what does that mean?” Moira asks for the sake of the non-genetic specialists among them.

“It means Humans and Neanderthals were interbreeding and then their offspring were interbreeding with the human population.” Charles explains, a thoughtful look on his face and a smile growing in his eyes.

“Yes.” Natalie confirms. “The DNA analysis techniques needed to prove it won’t be around for several decades, but I assure you it’s true, it was the basis of my PhD.”

“Incredible.” Charles breathes, a broad grin splitting his face. “Incredible…”

“So you’re saying Humans and Neanderthals got along happily and then suddenly the Neanderthals just disappeared? That humanity played no part in their extinction?” Erik’s scepticism comes across in a witheringly sarcastic tone.

“No,” The look Natalie gives Erik tells him to stop being deliberately dense. “What I’m saying is that human evolution is more complicated than the simple ‘one species immediately wipes out another’ explanation Charles gave in his thesis. Throughout most of our evolutionary history there have been several hominid species living on the planet at any one time, the last 30,000 years are actually unusual in there only being one … though there is evidence that suggests _Homo floresiensis_ could have been around as recently as 12,000 years ago… But, I digress... My point,” She summarises with a sharp look at Erik, “is that there is no evolutionary argument against the coexistence of humans and mutants.”

And that right there is quite the paradigm shift for Erik to get his head around.

“But…” He says slowly, trying to process this new information. “We _are_ the future, the next stage in humanity’s evolution.”

“Yes.” Natalie agrees. “In the same way that any child is the future of its parents, and most children don’t go around killing their parents just to get the inheritance a bit earlier."

Erik leans back in his chair, frowning but looking thoughtful. It’s a different way of looking at the situation, Natalie knows that: she can see Moira and Charles are turning it over in their heads as well. Sometimes the best way to solve a problem is by looking at it in a different way.

For several minutes they all sit in contemplative silence comparing Natalie’s view of the situation to their own and trying to fit the two together. Then…

“Damnit!” Natalie swears suddenly, at exactly the same moment that Charles sighs; “Oh dear…”

“What?” Erik and Moira ask in unison.

“Apparently Hank really _is_ a bozo!”


	13. Chapter 13

They’re all on their feet within moments as the philosophical crisis is replaced with a domestic one.

They all head towards the door and Natalie speaks words that, even as she says them, she regrets as being too condescending, but they’re out before she can stop them, and once they’re out her pride won’t let her apologise for them.

“Charles, remember anything other than ‘Raven you’re a beautiful woman and if Hank can’t love you the way you really are then he doesn’t deserve you’ and ‘someday somebody will love you just the way you are’ is unacceptable.”

She know it’s condescending, but she also know she’s right and she won’t apologise for that.

Charles stops at the doorway and turns to give Natalie a look that is almost, but not quite, a glare. “I won’t lie to her.”

“You won’t be.” Natalie assures him.

“Really? You know that? In the future she finds someone who can see past the fact she’s blue?” Charles is genuinely curious, curious and more than a little bit hopeful. Natalie can’t bring herself to lie to him.

“The future I know isn’t guaranteed.” She says instead.

“So she doesn’t.” Charles concludes flatly.

“That’s not what I said Charles!”

“It’s a simple question; in the future you remember does Raven find someone to love her in her natural form?”

“It’s not that simple!” Natalie exclaims with a sigh.

“Isn’t it?” To Charles it is that simple; either somebody loves his sister with all their heart, as she is, or they don’t.

“No! As an empath, I can assure you that no emotion is simple, and love… love is the most complex of them all…”

“Yes or No.”

“Oh, for crying out loud Charles!”  She exclaims in frustration. “Look, in the future _I know_ , Raven takes a dark path after Cuba, one that doesn’t allow much space for love. Yes, she finds someone who _desires_ her in her natural form, but I wouldn’t call it love. Because, in my book, love doesn’t involve abandoning somebody the moment they lose their powers.”

“Excuse me? They did what?” Charles’ voice jumps up an octave, “I think you’re going to have to elaborate on that…”

“No, I really don’t think I do.” Natalie’s tone is dangerously quiet, and that is the point when Erik decides to step in before things get _really_ nasty.

“As entertaining as this is, don’t you think we should be worrying more about the present Raven rather than her possible futures?”

Charles’ jaw is tight as he gives a curt nod and then stalks out the door. Moira follows hot on his heels, as she leaves the room she shoots the other two mutants a look which assures them that she will do everything she can to cool Charles’ temper and stop him from making Hank believe he’s a toad.

Natalie starts to follow Charles and Moira out of the room but finds Erik’s arm blocking her passage. The look he is giving her is so reminiscent of the older Magneto that she has to supress a shiver of apprehension.  When he speaks, his words are low and quiet so Charles and Moira won’t hear them. “You warned me off Raven earlier, why?”

She cocks her head to one side and gives him a look; one that says he already knows the answer and would he please stop wasting her time with superfluous questions. “You’re quite capable of adding two and two to get four.” Natalie’s constant sarcasm is really starting to grate on Erik’s nerves.

“Answer the question.”

She leans back against the doorframe and looks up at Erik and then she huffs out a little sigh and reaches out to press her fingers against Erik’s temple.

_A gun firing._

_“No!”_

_Raven writhing on the floor, blue skin fading to white._

_“You saved me.”_

_“Erik…”_

_“I’m sorry my dear, you’re not one of us anymore….”_

_Magneto walking away._

_“Such a shame, she was so beautiful.”_

The memory from the future fades leaving Erik reeling. “I do that to her?” He asks weakly – does he really become _that_ heartless?

“No,” Natalie’s tone is gentle now, “Magneto did that. I told you; you don’t have to become that man if you don’t want to.” She pushes herself up off the doorframe. “Still,” she adds with a touch of her previous sarcasm. “You can see why I didn’t want to tell Charles…”

“Yes, thank you for that.” He replies dryly, removing his hand from the doorframe and letting her move out into the corridor.

“Now,” She says glancing up and down the corridor, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Moira and Charles have found Raven, so it looks like it’s up to us to bang Hank’s head against the wall until he sees some sense.”

“I do hope you don’t mean that literally.”

She snorts and starts off down the corridor in the opposite direction to the way Charles and Moira went.

XXXXXX

When Moira and Charles find Raven it is clear she has been crying. It is also clear that Sean and Alex have being doing their utmost to stop her tears.

“I’m telling you Raven, the guy might be a genius but that doesn’t stop him being a complete idiot!” Alex is pacing up and down Raven’s bedroom, gesticulating wildly while Raven and Sean sit perched on the edge of the bed.

“Or from being completely wrong.” Sean has one arm around Raven’s shoulders, while his other hand is stuffed with a large handkerchief that he is offering to Raven – that small detail makes Moira smile: there is a tendency to underestimate Sean.

Charles strides across the room and takes his sister into his arms, while Moira stays in the doorway and watches. Raven has reverted back to the blonde hair and blue eyes that she is so used to wearing and that makes Moira’s heart ache: Natalie and her had worked so hard trying to get Raven to feel comfortable being blue, can a careless comment from Hank really have undone all that hard work?

“Are you alright?” Charles asks, taking the handkerchief that Sean holds out for him and gently wiping away the tears that are streaming down Raven’s face. She shakes her head and wordlessly buries her head in his shoulder.

“Hank is an idiot.” Alex repeats vehemently.

“What did he do?” Charles asks, suspecting he already knows the answer.

“Instead of telling her she looked amazing and that he wanted to jump her right there and then and have hundreds of little blue babies with her, he told Raven that people would never be OK with someone being blue. I mean it’s stupid! Yeah, OK some people still have problems with people with black skin, buts that’s changing and if people can start to accept black people then why the hell couldn’t they start to accept blue people? It’s just a colour after all.”

Charles looks slightly speechless in the face of Alex’s tirade. Moira just smiles in the doorway (both at Alex’s speech and Charles’ reaction to it). “Unfortunately, not everyone is as wise as you are Alex.” She says gently.

“So? Just because people are idiots, doesn’t mean we should pander to them. I mean it’s like those idiots who didn’t think you should be in the CIA just because you’re a woman. You didn’t pander to them. Raven shouldn’t pander to idiots either!”

“Very true,” Moira agrees, trying to keep her smile small, instead of grinning ear to ear like she wants to: she has spent her entire career struggling against prejudice, Alex’s words reassure her that one day in the future that prejudice may not exist.

 

XXXXXX

Erik and Natalie find Hank (unsurprisingly) still in the lab. The young genius is bent over a microscope, one hand frantically scribbling notes, while he peers intently down the lens. Erik and Natalie exchange a look, and then without saying a word each pick up one of the lab stools lying around the room and sit themselves either side of Hank.

“Are you going to threaten to hit me for telling the truth, as well?” The scientist asks without looking up from the microscope.

“Who threatened to hit you?” Natalie asks, her voice slipping into a teacher’s investigative tone: during her time at the Xavier Institute she had to deal with more than her fair share of teenage arguments.

“Alex.”

“Why did Alex threaten to hit you?” It’s Erik who asks the question, and Natalie is impressed by how calm and non-judgemental the question is: it’s exactly the sort of tone she would want any teacher or parent to use in this situation.

“I told Raven the truth: that society will never accept people who look like us.”

Over the top of Hank’s head Natalie sees Erik’s jaw tighten and she suspects he is about to launch into a tirade about not hiding who you are. Natalie catches his eyes and shakes her head slightly: yelling at Hank will not help matters. Erik’s lips thin but he defers to the empath and former teacher, assuming she knows better how to handle this situation than he does. And she does… but, should she?

While a self-confident Raven is less likely to walk away from Charles in Cuba, a self-confident Hank will stop working on his cure, will not try out his attempts at a cure on himself, and will not turn himself into Beast on the night before Cuba. And, without Beast’s strength will they still be able to defeat Shaw’s mutants at Cuba? Possibly, but then again possibly not… Natalie has already sworn to do everything she can to save the future, to get them through Cuba safely, and they are more likely to get through Cuba safely if Beast is with them.

Natalie hesitates a little before she takes the control of the conversation that Erik has wordlessly handed her: she knows what she needs to do, but she knows she is going to hate herself a little for doing it.

“Why did you say that to her, Hank?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

Don’t explicitly deny that statement. Subtly suggest agreement with Hank. “Even if that’s the case, Hank, you don’t have to say it: Raven came to you because she likes you and wanted to share her new dress with you.”

“Oh.” Hank looks up from his microscope and blinks at Natalie. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Hank is still a teenager: he may have a doctorate, but when it comes to emotional intelligence Hank is just as clueless as most other teenager boys.

“Yes, you shouldn’t tell a girl who you want to like that you think she’s ugly.”

“I don’t think she’s ugly, not when she looks like she normally does. But nobody could honestly say that someone who is blue is beautiful.”

That is the perfect opportunity to point out that ‘normal’ for Raven is actually blue, and not the mask that she wears most days, but Natalie deliberately lets that perfect opportunity slip past as Hank continues his rant.

“I’m not going to lie to her. But I can help her, I already told her I can make a cure that will make both of us look normal. I’m really close to cracking it! Raven’s genes are amazing, I can make this cure and Raven won’t have to look blue ever again.”

Natalie can see Erik frowning at her from behind Hank: he is probably starting to regret handing control of this conversation to Natalie. He knows she has just let an opportunity slip by, but it’s too late now. And, if Erik thinks that Natalie is going to give him an opportunity to take back control of this conversation, he is sadly mistaken.

“Ok, Hank.” She stands up, pushing the lab stool back with a scrapping sound. “We’ll leave you to your work. Just next time, think more carefully before you say things that can upset people.”

Erik is full on glaring at her now, but she doesn’t give him time to resist as she steers him out of the lab and into the corridor.

XXXXXX

The moment Erik and Natalie leave the lab, and the door has shut behind them, Erik grabs Natalie’s arm and pulls her around to face him.

“Is there something you’re not telling us?” He demands.

“What do you mean?” She asks; there are lots of things she’s not telling them.

“You spent all day building up Raven’s self-confidence and then spent the last ten minutes doing the opposite with Hank. Why the discrepancy?”

She pauses for a moment before she replies; she could deny it, but Erik is already suspicious and a distrustful Erik is a dangerous Erik - dangerous, and unpredictable. Natalie’s chances of steering Erik towards a better future will rapidly decrease if Erik doesn’t trust her or won’t listen to her advice. So, she answers in a general sense, avoids specifics, and hopes that is enough to salve Erik’s suspicions. “Something’s going to happen to Hank between now and Cuba. Something that can help you beat Shaw. I need Hank to be insecure for a little while longer.”

Erik is unimpressed by her vague answer. “What happens to Hank?”

Natalie bites her lip and gives Erik a look – she has already said more than she should and she is not going to get into the habit of giving them specifics about the future – it’s dangerous them knowing too much about a future that – God willing – will never happen: it will colour their expectations, taint the way they think about each other and the world. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy it could steer them back towards the future Natalie is trying to avoid.

“If it is something bad…” Erik’s tone is threatening but Natalie ignores the threat – he’s always been protective of other mutants, _that_ isn’t something Natalie wants to change about Erik.

“Good or bad depends on whether you take a long- or a short-term view. It was invaluable in helping you beat Shaw last time around. This time, it might not be necessary…” She trails off. “But, do you really want me to take that risk?”

Erik pauses for a moment, weighing his conscience against the need to kill Shaw. “No.” He says, finally letting go of her arm.

“Well then…” She says closing down the conversation and starting to head off down the corridor. She pauses after a few steps and glances back over her shoulder.  “Oh and Erik, it’s probably best if you don’t tell Charles about this.”

Of course it’s best if they don’t tell Charles they’re manipulating Hank’s future. Erik isn’t a fool: he can work that much out.


	14. Chapter 14

Roaming the halls at some godforsaken hour of the night is not a new habit for Charles Xavier. He’s been doing it since before he met Raven; prowling around empty corridors trying to distract himself from the voices in his head. Well, that’s how it started, and then it became a way for him to think, to work through problems or contemplate his thesis without having to worry about blocking out the noise of people’s conscious thoughts. People think so much more quietly when they’re asleep. Unless they’re having nightmares of course…

_She moves among them all, the battered and bruised, the lucky-to-be-alive, and with each one she shares a touch or an embrace. And through that touch she takes their pain and their grief, takes their sorrow and despair and in its place she gives them hope and courage and steel-lined determination; to keep fighting, to keep going._

_Night after night she does this, and every night there are less of them, less burdens for her to carry, but each burden becomes heavier and heavier, and the weight of it all feels like it is crushing her soul. But still she takes on their grief and pain, wipes their tears and eases their minds, because there is nothing else she can do: she cannot fight as they can against these monsters and machines. But, she can ease their pain, help them rest and sleep… keep them strong enough to fight…_

Charles turns down another corridor and then takes the stairs down to the second floor.

_They’re crouched in the doorway of a ruined shop; it looks like it once sold shoes from the charred debris that surrounds them. Besides her David shoulders his rifle, watching down the street, ready to aim. Behind her Kitty stands guard. Kitty who drew the short straw today; babysitting the humans and those mutants that are no use in a fight.  Further along the street Natalie can feel the other mutants waiting, feel their growing tension, their fragile hope that this hastily put-together plan, this ad-hoc ambush will work._

_From far away the heavy thud-thud of the machines coming closer echoes through the ground…_

_They’re nearly here._

_She closes her eyes, shuts down all her senses except her mind, and reaches out. She finds each mutant, hooks her mind into theirs, builds up a web one-by-one with her at the centre and through those links pours all the courage and determination she can muster, she fortifies their bedraggled army, shores it up and keeps it strong. And then she reaches out further, beyond the machines that she knows are there but can’t feel, and finds the humans behind them and then she latches onto their minds too and into them she pours all the fear and despair she’s draining from the mutants. It’s a delicate balancing act, pouring emotion out of one group of people and into another, and to do it with so many minds, to split her concentration so many ways...Well, before this war began she wouldn’t have thought it possible; now she’s done it so many times it’s almost easy._

_When the fighting starts, when people start dying,_ that’s _when it will get hard._

Charles takes a left and then a right and stops in front of the door to one of the mansion’s many bedrooms.

_The world erupts in noise and pain. Through her closed eyelids lights flash and burn. She blocks it out as best she can, focuses on the minds in her head. All around people are screaming and dying, and she feels it all. Every death, human or mutant, friend or foe, she feels every single one and each death cuts right through her soul. But, she has to hold on, has to keep focus through all that pain. She has to help her students in the only way she can…_

He pushes open the door to see Natalie tossing between knotted sheets. He crosses the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed he reaches over to shake her awake. And maybe Erik is right: maybe he is foolishly naïve, because he genuinely doesn’t expect the fist that connects with his jaw. The force of the punch knocks him off the edge of the bed and as his sprawls on the floor he hears Natalie curse.

“Jesus, Charles! I thought you were… What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

“That’s quite a right hook you’ve got there.” He compliments, feeling his bruised face.

“Yes, well, Logan insisted I learnt how to hit properly.” She throws back the clinging covers and offers out a hand to the downed Charles, pulling him back up onto the bed. Tucking her feet up under her knees and pushing her tousled hair back from her face, she looks at the telepath with a small frown on her face. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing in here.”

“You were projecting.” He explains simply.

Her shoulders slump and a hand comes up to rub her forehead. “Sorry,” she mutters without looking at him.

“Don’t apologise, you’re hardly the only one in the house who has nightmares.”

She looks up at that, meets his eyes and sees the sympathy without pity in them, and she gives him a small, sad, smile. “Well, I would advise against ever barging into Erik’s room like that. I suspect he’d do far more than punch you before he realized it was you.”

Charles gives a wry smile of agreement – it’s a lesson he learnt the hard way on one of their many recruiting trips. “Yes, I still have the scar.” He says dryly. And then he just has to smile at the way she rolls her eyes and looks at him, because it’s a look that says very clearly ‘You are an idiot!’ and up until recently Raven was the only one who ever gave him that look. Now, apparently, it’s catching, because over the last few weeks he’s got that look from Moira and Erik as well.

Speaking of Erik…

They both turn at the same moment, cocking their heads to listen to something that can’t be heard with ears. And there’s a sudden stab of realization, something he’s known all along, but which has only just sunk in – this woman is like him, can hear the things he hears and feel the things he feels. He doesn’t have time to address that realization though because a second mental cry follows the first and it has the two of them on their feet and out into the corridor within seconds.

They hurry as quietly as they can (neither of them wants to wake the children), along the corridor to Erik’s room.

When they get there Natalie reaches out to grasp the door handle.

_I thought you were the one who said barging in on Erik would be dangerous._

She turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised at his voice inside her head. Her hand is still on the door handle.

_Only if you don’t know what you’re doing._

_You’ve done this before?_ He’s curious, very curious, because while she’s told them some things about the future, shown them some things, he’s very aware that there’s a lot she’s missed out.

_Yes._

_With Erik?_

_No, but with someone just as dangerous._

With that, she turned back to the door and turns the door handle. Somewhat anti-climactically it’s locked. The little sigh she gives tells Charles that she’s not surprised. Charles isn’t surprised either, but then over the last few months he’s got used to Erik’s tendency to lock the door while he sleeps.

_What now?_ Charles asks because he’s interested to see what she’ll do next.

_Now we try and wake him up._

_From out here? How do you plan on doing that?_

She raises one mocking eyebrow and taps the side of her head.

Of course. Good to know she thinks along the same lines as him.

Before she can do anything though, the lock on the door clicks open and the door swings slowly open of its own accord.

Natalie stands in silence for a moment, staring at Charles who is trying not to look smug. “You woke him up five minutes ago, didn’t you?”

Charles smiles and indicates for her to enter the room.

“You two are insufferable sometimes, you know that don’t you?” She announces as she enters the room. It’s a rhetorical question, but more tired with a hint of vaguely amused rather than actually sarcastic.

Erik and Charles’ mouths twitch into matching smiles, but they don’t meet each other’s eyes: the tension from this morning’s disagreement still hangs over them. “Charles seems to think that now would be a good time to continue our discussion about Cuba.” Erik’s tone suggests that he doesn’t agree with Charles’ belief that 2 o’clock in the morning is an appropriate time to discuss averting the end of the world.             

“What? Now, that he’s woken us both up you mean…” Natalie’s sarcasm is back in full force as she perches herself on the end of the bed, tucking her feet up underneath her.

“Oh, he woke you up as well?”

“Where do you think he got the black eye from?”

Erik glances over at Charles and looks mildly impressed at the bruise that’s already starting to form.

Charles shifts uncomfortably. “Well, if you’d both learn to dream quietly I wouldn’t have to wake you up…”

Natalie and Erik exchange a look that is borderline embarrassed. “Sorry.”

Charles half shrugs, awkwardly aware that he shouldn’t have just said that: he has no right to complain about the fact that the two of them have nightmares, not when he knows why they have those nightmares.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Natalie asks trying to diffuse the uncomfortable feeling in the room.

“You seem awfully determined that we should kill Shaw.” Charles says trying to keep the disapproval out of his tone, but failing somewhat.

“Yes.” She’s not going to deny it.

“You can’t honestly be saying that it is the right thing to do?” Any attempt to hide his disapproval has now disappeared.

Natalie sighs and rubs her forehead tiredly. “For all your future faults Professor, I find myself longing for the days when your idealism is tempered by practicality!”

“You’re saying there comes a day when I actually condone murder?” Charles has trouble believing that. So, does Erik.

“No. But, there comes a day when you accept that there are times when all we have are bad choices. Killing Shaw is not morally right, but we don’t have another choice. If we let him live do you really think there is any prison cell that will hold him for long? And when he gets out he will come after you and Erik and Moira, and he will come after Raven, and Alex, and Hank, and Sean. He will come after all of you, and when you are all dead or have joined him, he will set about wiping out the whole of humanity. And even if he doesn’t succeed immediately he will plunge this planet into a war as bad, if not worse, than the one I came back to prevent. It’s not good Charles, it’s not nice and it’s not right, but it is necessary.”

There’s a long silence after Natalie’s speech – Charles clearly still isn’t convinced, but Natalie isn’t sure she has the energy to continue this argument tonight. Cuba’s still a few days away: she has time to wear Charles down. Tonight though it’s time to change the topic...

“Shaw is going to try and get inside Erik’s head.”

Erik raises an eyebrow and glances over at Charles.

Natalie rolls her eyes. “No, not like that! Like this…” She reaches over press her fingers against Erik’s forehead, while slipping her other hand into Charles’.

_May I ask you something? – Shaw smiles - Why are you on their side? Why fight for a doomed race who will hunt us down as soon as they realise their reign is coming to an end?_

_I’m sorry for what happened in the camps. I truly am._

_But everything I did, I did for you. To unlock your power, to make you embrace it._

_You’ve come a long way from bending gates. I’m so proud of you. And you’re just starting to scratch the surface. Think how much further we could go, together._

_I don’t want to hurt you, Erik. I never did. I want to help you. This is our time. Our age. We are the future of the human race. You and me, son. This world could be ours._

There’s a pause after the words fade, and then Charles swears, loudly and with feeling: “That sick bastard!” Natalie agrees, but she knows that Erik has a more complicated relationship with Shaw than that – most victims of abuse do.

“He’s not entirely wrong.” Erik says quietly.

“What do you mean?” Charles is shocked, and Natalie muses that for a telepath Charles can be surprisingly blind to some of the nuances of the human condition. “What could you possibly agree with him about?”

“He did make me stronger.”

“Yes, and he also made you weaker.” Natalie says quietly. Both men turn to look at her, their expressions asking for an explanation. “Up here.” Natalie taps the side of her head. “He broke bits of you, tried to shape you in his own image. He limited you to the scope of his own imagination, when you can be, will be, so much more. The ways Shaw taught you to use your powers are limited and crude compared to the mastery there is to gain of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you owe him anything.”

“The only thing I owe him is pain and death.” Erik states forcefully.

“Erik!” Charles admonishes: such violent vehemence from Erik is not reassuring right now.

“No Charles! You don’t understand! You think you do, but you don’t!” Erik all but snarls. “He killed my mother! He deserves to die! He has to die!”

There is a brief glaring match between Erik and Charles, which only last a few seconds before it is interrupted by a quiet question from Natalie. “Is there anything else you agree with Shaw on?” As she asks the question Erik sees in her eyes that she knows the answer is yes, and that if Erik lies and says no, she won’t call him on it, but she will _know_.

“We are the future of the human race.” Erik says it defiantly, defensively.

“That doesn’t mean we should be killing them!” Charles is outraged, shocked: yes he saw what Erik became in the future, knows intellectually that those views have to come from somewhere, but to see his friend spouting those toxic words is incredibly disturbing.

“They’re going to try to kill us!” Erik voice is passionate and defensive all at the same time – Natalie’s sneaky telepathic peak inside the metal-bender’s head confirms what she already suspected: Erik is feeling like he’s being backed into a corner with this conversation and that has got his flight-or-fight response worked up, and with Erik that almost always means ‘fight’.

Charles opens his mouth, about to argue back fervently, to try to reason with his friend, but Natalie gets there first…

“You approve of genocide do you?” She asks sharply. “Because, that’s what you seem to be advocating. Wipe them out before they wipe us out. Even if you claim it’s in self-defence, it’s still genocide and I thought you were a better man than the people who did this to you.” She reaches over to tap the numbers inked into Erik’s forearm. The look on Eric’s face is somewhere between shocked and furious. “Glare at me all you like,” Natalie says, unfazed by the anger in the German’s eyes. “You know I’m right.”

The problem is that Erik’s pride won’t let him admit that she’s right. Natalie resist the urge to sigh – to sigh or to beat Erik around the head until he sees sense. Instead of giving in to that urge, she tries instead to get through to him with words...

“The thing is, Erik, the thing you’re not realising is that your views of mutants, of humans and even of yourself have all been shaped and moulded by Shaw. He tore you from your family when you were still a child, he took you to pieces and then built you back up again. You talk of genocide because that’s what Shaw taught you, Shaw and the Nazis, they taught you that that was the only response to differences between races. But it doesn’t have to be that way – Shaw and the Nazis were wrong. Don’t let them define who you are, Erik. Don’t let Shaw colour your views and steal your whole life from you. Don’t let him win. Because, even if you kill him, if you then continue his work, his philosophy… well, then Shaw will still have won.”

And there is Erik’s pride, in his tightened jaw and clenched fists, and so Natalie backs down, lets it go for now, because arguing will only make Erik more determined to disagree with them. “Think about it at least. Think about what we’ve said, that’s all we’re asking.”

There, finally, reluctantly, is a slight thawing. Wordlessly, and very slowly, Erik inclines his head in a half-nod: he will think about what they’ve said.

“Thank you.”

Charles opens his mouth to say something, but Natalie still hasn’t put her telepathic shields back up and she picks up on his intent to continue the argument and to head off such a stupid idea Natalie reaches out with her telepathy and pinches hard on the nerve endings in Charles’ arm. He has the presence of mind not to jump or yelp, though he does rub the spot where she had applied the phantom pain, and he gives her a look like a puppy who’s just been kicked. In return she gives him a look which is completely unimpressed with his puppy eyes and also manages to convey the fact that he should take her advice and keep his mouth shut: now is not the time to push Erik.

Erik observes the entire interaction with only the smallest up turning of the edges of his mouth betraying his amusement at the two telepaths. “Are we done for tonight?” Erik asks dryly. “I’d like to actually get some sleep…”

“Yes, we’re done. Move over.” Natalie says nudging Erik with her foot and pushing back the covers to let herself into the bed.

“Excuse me?” Erik exchanges a bewildered look with Charles who just shrugs in confusion.

“Do you want to get a good night’s sleep or not?” Natalie asks testily and flashes a memory of last night curled up outside into their heads – as uncomfortable as it might have been sleeping out on the cold gravel it had actually been one of the most peaceful night’s sleep Natalie has had in a long while. Their linked minds had somehow managed to ward off the nightmares: maybe they can repeat that phenomenon tonight.

Maybe he’s just too tired to argue, or maybe the idea of a night’s sleep without nightmares is just too alluring, but Erik doesn’t protest, just moves along to make room for Natalie who then turns and gives Charles a long look until he throws up his hands in surrender and climbs in next to them. The bed is big and there’s plenty of room for the three of them, and after last night it doesn’t even feel awkward.

And it doesn’t have time to start feeling awkward because Erik and Natalie are asleep within moments; exhaustion and Charles’ mental nudges sending them quickly to the land of nod. Charles takes longer to fall asleep, lying on his back thinking about everything Natalie has said, but eventually he too drifts off into a peaceful slumber.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few points to help you make sense of the Oxbridge banter that occurs between Charles and Natalie during this chapter:  
> 1) Oxford University and Cambridge University have been rivals ever since Cambridge University was founded (by a group of disgruntled scholars who left Oxford University in 1209) - the Oxford & Cambridge Boat Race is the most public manifestation of this rivalry  
> 2) "tab" is a derogatory name used by someone studying at Oxford to refer to someone studying at Cambridge  
> 3) "punting from the Cambridge end" is a euphemism for being Gay. (In case you're interested as to the origins of that euphemism: a punt is a type of shallow boat propelled along by means of a long pole. Punts are regularly used on the rivers in both Oxford and Cambridge. However, in Oxford they steer the punt by standing at the front of the punt, while in Cambridge they steer from the back - naturally both universities are convinced that their way is the better way! – and Cambridge University has a reputation for being very accepting of homosexuality, a reputation that goes back to at least the 1600s.)

Charles wakes up slowly, languidly. He eases open his eyes, expecting to see the familiar vista of his bedroom. Instead, his vision is filled with brown hair and the curve of a woman’s neck. For a brief moment he flashes back to his university days and the numerous occasions when he had woken up in bed with a beautiful woman and only a vague recollection of how he’d ended up there. Then he remembers what actually happened last night….

He turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. Cuba is only a few days away and after the conversation last night… well… Charles is just not as reassured about that as he would like to be...

There is movement on the bed next to him, and he glances over to see Natalie’s brown eyes watching him.

_Don’t worry. There’s still time._

Her voice in his head is trying to be reassuring, but Charles doesn’t quite believe it: not after everything Erik said last night.

Natalie’s brown eyes are still looking straight at him.

_Erik will pull through for us Charles._

_Do you really believe that?_

_I have to believe Charles, otherwise everything I have lost was for nothing._

_That isn’t very reassuring…_

_No. I know. But, even if Cuba still goes wrong, so long as you stop Shaw: so long as you avert a nuclear war… well… there will still be time, decades of time, to prevent the war between our species. So long as you stop Shaw, the rest can be dealt with later._

_That’s not reassuring either…_ Charles is thinking about his legs and spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

“I know you’re talking about me.”

In unison Natalie and Charles glance over to the far side of the bed where Erik is watching them, his face dark and expressionless.

“Can you blame us?”

Charles is surprised that Natalie doesn’t even try to deny it: but then again, even if she had denied it Erik probably wouldn’t have believed her.

Erik’s only reply is a short grunt and then he pushes himself out of bed. He walks over to the wardrobe, without looking at them. Still without turning to face them, he dismisses them from the room. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get dressed.”

Neither Natalie nor Charles argue. They slip out of Erik’s bedroom without saying another word - verbal or telepathic - and head down the corridor in opposite directions. Which is why Natalie is the only one who sees the look on Alex’s face before he disappears back behind his bedroom door… Damn…

XXXXXX

Throughout breakfast Alex keeps giving the three of them weird sideways looks until finally Natalie snaps. “Oh, for goodness sake, we were not having kinky three-way sex!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, which is eventually broken by Charles’ strangled voice; “Thank you Natalie, I’m not sure I’m ever going to recover from that mental image!”

Natalie’s face takes on a look that’s all faked sweetness. “Charles…” She says in a voice that’s almost a purr. “I don’t know whether to be more offended for my own sake or Erik’s. What could you possibly find offensive about either of us?” Erik chokes back a surprised laugh.

“Let’s just say I never learnt to punt that way.” The young Professor retorts dryly, sending a brief glare in Erik’s direction.

“Well if you’d gone to a proper university…”

That comment causes Charles’ expression to change so fast that it causes Erik to sit up suddenly in his chair. Charles is now staring at Natalie with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “No…” He says slowly, “You can’t be… you’re a Tab?” There’s disbelief in Charles’ tone and most unusually a hint of disgust.

Natalie just grins and dips her head in a mocking half bow.

“A what?” Sean asks around a mouthful of cereal.

“Tab, it means she studied at the University of Cambridge.” Raven explains in a tone which suggests she has absolutely no patience with the 750 year old rivalry between England’s two oldest universities.

“Who won the boat race this year?” Natalie asks sweetly.

“We did.” Charles informs her, just a little bit smugly.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll beat you next year.” Natalie replies with a shrug.

Charles’ eyes narrow slightly. “Is that so…”

Natalie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Charles I can remember exactly who won the boat race every year for the past 50 years!”* Sarcasm drips from every word and Charles can’t help but acquiesce her point.

“Wait… what? What’s going on?” Sean asks, mouth still full of cereal.

“Charles studied at Oxford. Natalie studied at Cambridge.” Raven summarises. “And Oxford and Cambridge have been competing against each other since the dawn of time.”

“Since 1209 actually, when…” Raven’s glare silences Charles’ history lesson before it can even really get started. Sean covers a snigger behind another spoonful of cereal.

“So, you weren’t … you know..?” Alex asks, dragging the conversation back to its original topic: the adults’ sleeping arrangements.

“No.” Natalie says firmly, to squash any uncomfortable rumours before they can start.

“Then why were you all in Erik’s bedroom?”

Erik and Charles glance at Natalie, wordlessly dumping the burden of explanation on her head. Natalie pauses for a moment before replying, not because she is embarrassed, but because it is a difficult thing to explain.

“The first night after we arrived here, the first night after Darwin died, you had nightmares about Darwin didn’t you? About Darwin and Shaw.”

Alex exchanges an uncomfortable look with Sean. Raven and Hank are also looking a little uneasy.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Natalie says firmly. “It’s a perfectly normal way to process a trauma. In fact I’d have been more worried if you hadn’t had any nightmares.”

That seems to reassure them slightly. Good. Shame is such a pointless emotion to have when it comes to grief: there is nothing shameful in caring enough about somebody that you grieve when they’re taken from you, and nightmares are as much of a natural part of any trauma as a headache is part of a head injury – unpleasant, but completely normal.

“Well, you’re hardly the only ones having nightmares, and not just about Shaw.” And isn’t it hypocritical of her, but Natalie finds that admission – the implicit admission that she is also having nightmares – difficult to make. “And, well, as telepaths Charles and I can ease those nightmares, but it’s not easy, especially when we’re asleep, but close proximity helps, makes it easier for us to ease the nightmares.”

“Oh,” Alex says, clearly not sure what else to say – it’s not exactly standard breakfast conversation after all.

“So, not kinky three-way sex.” Raven summarises with a slightly evil little grin on her face – she’s enjoying the shade of pink Charles goes whenever someone says those words.

She’s not the only one who finds it amusing: there’s a little smirk on Natalie’s face and an evil look in Erik’s eye which is just the wrong side of friendly teasing – Natalie suspects that Erik would like to repay Charles for the uncomfortable grilling he received last night. She catches Erik’s eye, not sure whether she’s going to warn him to be nice to Charles or to let it slide, when she catches a flash of an image from Erik’s mind: he’s thinking it very loudly, as if he’s trying to get her attention, as if he wants her to look at it. Curiosity is a weakness of hers: she takes a look. Then, she has to fight not to blush… that was rather more explicit than she had been expecting… when she catches Erik’s eye again, he pointedly tilts his head in Charles’ direction and that evil little smile is there in his eyes, hidden by a much more mundane expression on his mouth. It only takes Natalie a moment the work out what he’s suggesting… that’s rather evil… Natalie shouldn’t be encouraging that sort of behaviour, she really shouldn’t, but… well it would be very funny… and Charles does rather have a double standard when it comes to sex. Considering what Charles got up to during his university years he really shouldn’t be as prudish as he seems to be…

So, Natalie gives into the little  devil on her shoulder and takes the image Erik is holding in his head – holy crap, does that man have a vivid imagination – and pushes it towards Charles’ mind and through the surprisingly lax mental shields that the Professor has up at the moment. She knows the moment it gets through because Charles blushes bright red and glances over at Natalie with a frown on his face. Natalie gives him a blank look which is a perfect study in fake innocence.

It takes another three images, before Charles makes any comment.

“If you would stop doing that I would appreciate it.”

The children all look up in confusion and glance between Charles (blushing), Natalie (fake innocence) and Erik (somewhat more believable but still clearly fake innocence).

“Stop doing what?” Natalie asks, daring him with her eyes to voice his complaints to the table.

It takes another ten minutes before…

“Seriously, would you both please stop that!” Charles’ tone is starting to migrate from mildly amused towards genuinely annoyed.

“Don’t look at me, it’s all Erik!” Natalie still retains her innocent façade, though only a fool would miss the clear implication that she’s taking some measure of perverse pleasure in watching Charles’ face, as it gets ever nearer to the colour of a beetroot. 

“Really, I don’t think Erik is capable of pushing images through my shields like that.”

“Maybe you just need better shields…” The argument is deteriorating to the point where Erik is starting to wonder who is going to be the first to stick their tongue out at the other when, thankfully, Moira walks through the door.

Charles turns as the CIA agent enters the room and tries to appeal to what is apparently the last voice of sanity in the house. “Moira, please make them stop!”

“Stop what?” Moira asks curiously, taking in the blushing Charles, the fake innocence oozing from Erik and Natalie and the slightly bemused grins on the children’s faces. She stops and frowns, wondering what she’s just walked into. “What’s going on here?”

“Apparently, Charles ‘let me flirt with you with my corny genetic mutation speech’ Xavier is more of a prude than we thought.”

Moira glances over at Charles, an inquisitive frown on her face.

Charles flushes bright fuchsia. “I….. uh….Natalie and Erik are trying to be funny…” He says, trying to sound like a dignified adult rather than a child tattling to his parents – which is sort of how he feels at the moment.

“OK...” Moira says. She glances at Erik who is trying to hide an evil little grin, then at Natalie whose face portrays a complete lack of shame and finally back at Charles who is still rather pink around the ears. “…Carry on.”

“Moira!” Charles exclaims, scandalised by the lack of support from his favourite CIA agent. The rest of the table dissolves into fits of laughter.

  XXXXXX

Today, it is apparently Alex’s turn to be strapped into one of Hank’s ridiculous contraptions. “Sexy.” He comments sarcastically.

“Well, this is just the prototype.” Hank explains fastening the last buckle. “The real one will look considerably better. It will be a whole suit. See, these sensors measure your energy output. This panel focuses it and the excess is absorbed.”

“Yes. Thank you, Hank. Now, why don’t we give it a go Alex?” Is it Alex’s imagination or is Charles being somewhat shorter with Hank than is normal for the terminally polite Professor? Alex wouldn’t blame him if he was: Alex hasn’t exactly felt very friendly towards Hank this morning, and Raven isn’t even his sister...

“Alright Bozo, let’s see if this piece of junk works.”

Charles frowns at the vindictiveness in Alex’s words: the teen has never been the most congenial of people but those words had a whole new level of spite in them. But, Charles realises that he’s not exactly been setting a good example: all his interactions with Hank since last night have been cool to the point of being genuinely unfriendly. And, that, he realises, is unacceptable: Charles is the adult, he should be setting a good example, and no matter what his personal feelings towards Hank might be at the moment he needs to be professional in his interactions with the young genius. In a few days they are going to be in Cuba fighting for their lives and trying to save the world: in that situation any disharmony between them could potentially be fatal.

The immediate need is to get Hank away from Alex and his acerbic comments… “Thank you Hank.” Charles says as brightly as he can. “You’ve done a great job! I think Alex and I can handle things from here. Why don’t you go see if Erik will give you a head start on your training?”

Hank gives Charles a brief look before the young genius disappears through the door out of the bunker. It’s a look which Charles can’t quite work out: is it upset or grateful? Charles doesn’t have time to dwell on it though…

“Ok Alex,” Charles says turning back to the antsy teen. “Try hitting the one in the middle. Just the one in the middle, mind.”

  XXXXXX

When Hank comes to Erik mumbling something about training Erik is surprised to say the least: they had agreed that Charles would spend some time training with Hank this afternoon. Now, apparently, Charles has changed his mind and wants Erik to do it instead. Erik can’t really blame Charles: If Raven had been his sister…

Erik is outside waiting for Hank to finish changing into something more suitable for physical activity. While he is waiting another figure appears from the mansion and walks over to join him: Moira. Erik doesn’t say anything, he can draw a conclusion as quickly as the next person: Charles asked Moira to come out and make sure that Erik doesn’t mess up Hank’s training. That thought irks Erik, that Charles will give Erik the jobs he doesn’t want to do himself, but not actually trust him to do them properly. Erik is tempted to take his frustration out on Moira, but his terse “What are you doing here?”, is met with a firm stare and a raised eyebrow which asks rather succinctly whether Erik is going to be childish about this or not?

Erik decides that it’s probably better to save his frustration with Charles for Charles.

The three of them start by running laps. Erik saw Hank demonstrate his agility when they first met at the CIA base: he knows the young doctor is capable of a great deal. So, it is frustrating when he glances over to see Hank keeping pace with him and Moira. But, only keeping pace. Both Erik and Moira are at the peak of their physical fitness and have spent the last ten minutes pushing themselves, they’re both breathing heavily and yet Hank has barely broken a sweat.

They stop to catch their breath and Erik glances over at the young mutant. “You’re holding back on us Hank.”

The teen shrugs slightly in embarrassment. “Only a little bit.”

“Why? Are you afraid of what you’re capable of?”

“Aren’t you? With your powers you could bring down whole cities, doesn’t that thought terrify you?”

Does it? Does it terrify him, or does he find it reassuring? He has this power and others don’t and that means he is stronger than them, it means that they can’t hurt him… except… according to Natalie’s future, even with his powers Erik couldn’t stop them trying to wipe out his people. According to Natalie’s future Erik’s powers might have actually made things worse…

Moira is watching him carefully, as she waits for him to answer Hank’s question: as if she’s weighing up whether to shoot at him now, or wait until Cuba… (even as he thinks it Erik knows that that is unfair on Moira, she won’t shoot him: not when she knows the consequences..).

“I know what my powers could do, Hank. Which, is why I have to be in control of them rather than letting them control me.” And, that is a promise as much to himself as to Hank: he will master his powers and use them to prevent humanity wiping out mutantkind.

“But, what if I just don’t use them? Then they can’t control me…” Hank’s tone is begging, pleading, as if can somehow make a deal with the world: that if he doesn’t use his powers they would just go away and things would be alright. But, the world doesn’t make deals like that: if it did then Erik would have given up his powers to save his mother.

“Except they would be Hank.” Moira says gently, cutting in with a softer approach than Erik knows he would have been capable of. “You would still be living your life afraid of your powers.”

“You shouldn’t live in fear Hank.”

“That’s easy for you to say! You look normal.”

And with that comment from Hank, Erik flashes back to last night’s drama with Hank and Raven. The drama, and the things that Natalie _should_ have said to Hank... “But no matter what your own fears are Hank, you shouldn’t push them on to Raven.”

Out of the corner of his eye Erik sees Moira frown at that blunt comment. She starts to say something more diplomatic, but Erik doesn’t hear as he is distracted by a voice in his head…

_Well, you’d know all about projecting your own fears. Wouldn’t you Erik?_

Erik feels his anger rising as he turns to face Charles. The telepath is stood just behind them, hands in his pockets, and a grim look on his face: apparently Charles has decided that now is the time to have that conversation Erik put off yesterday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * FYI - Cambridge actually did win the boat race in 1964…


	16. Chapter 16

“What do you mean, Charles?” Erik’s voice is dangerously quiet.

Moira and Hank glance nervously between the two mutants: they might not have heard what Charles’ said to Erik, but they can sense the impending storm and, unfortunately, without knowing what has been said they can’t see any way of averting it…

_I mean that your time in the camps has shaped your views. Left you afraid of humans. And you push that fear onto the rest of us. You try to split humans and mutants apart just so that you can justify your fears._

“Everything Natalie showed us suggests those fears were justified.”

“Hank,” Moira whispers to the young mutant. “Go back into the house.” Hank glances at Erik and Charles and then at the CIA agent. He gives a quick, terrified, nod and scampers back into the mansion.

Erik and Charles don’t appear to notice.

_No, Erik._ Charles’ mental voice is firm. _Everything Natalie showed us suggests that your fears are self-fulfilling prophecy. Your actions provoked them._

“I provoked them?” Erik demands. “They tried to kill us after we had just saved them from a nuclear war! I was justified in trying to protect us.”

“Except you weren’t just trying to protect us, were you Erik?” Charles’ voice is icily calm as he switches to verbal rather than mental communication. “If you had just been protecting us you would have deflected those missiles rather than trying to kill thousands of people.”

“People who had just tried to kill us!”

“People who didn’t have a damn clue what was going on!” Charles has now gone from calmly cold to furiously hot. “They lashed out in fear Erik. Something you have done more than once in your life! And what good has it ever done you?”

Erik goes frighteningly still at those last words. And, Moira can see that Charles has just crossed a line, hit a nerve, and if he continues pushing Erik then… well, Moira doesn’t know exactly what will happen, but it won’t be good... Already, she can feel the dogtags around her neck twitching in response to Erik’s anger (the mutant’s fist are clenched by his side as if he’s desperately resisting the urge to punch Charles).

Charles is just standing there waiting for Erik’s response, as if he can’t see that he needs to back down –  Moira isn’t even a telepath and she can clearly see that the only sensible thing for Charles to do right now is to back the hell down, maybe even apologise. But, apparently Charles doesn’t see that …

“Well, Erik?” Charles says blindly continuing to stoke the flames of Erik’s anger. “What good has it done you? Did it save your mother?”

And that is when Moira knows that Charles has really done it.

“Erik.” She says as quickly as she can; hoping to draw Erik’s attention away from Charles before the German does something he will regret.

It works.

Erik turns to look at her. And now all that anger is directed at her... But, damn, she didn’t join the CIA because she scared easy…

“Erik, walk away.” She says calmly, trying to get through to the man behind the angry mist. “Be the better man and walk away right now.”

He keeps staring at her, with that cold anger in his eyes, and she feels the dogtags around her neck vibrating furiously.

She maintains eye contact with Erik.

“Please” She says quietly. “Please, walk away.”

Maybe it’s the “please” that does it because – thank God – Erik turns and walks away. Walks away from Charles and across the grounds towards the large iron gates.

 Finally, and far too late, Charles realises what an idiot he’s been.  He starts to go after Erik, his expression suddenly contrite, but Moira grabs his arm before he’s taken more than two steps.

“Leave it. You’ll only make things worse.”

“But, I…”

“No, Charles. You’re the last person he’ll want to talk to right now. Give him some space.”

In the distance they see Erik tear open the gates, bending and twisting the metal apart so that he can pass through them. It’s an impressive display of emotion, and Moira is just glad it is directed at inanimate object rather than at Charles.

“What have I done?” Charles whispers, watching Erik stride into the distance.

“You’ve messed up.” Moira states with an uncharacteristic lack of sympathy – in this particular case she is firmly on Erik’s side. “So, fix it.”

Charles gives her a baleful look – as she’s just said, Erik won’t want to talk to him right now.

“Or,” She says as if speaking to a child. “If you can’t, go find someone who can.”

  XXXXXX

Charles goes in search of Natalie.

The young Professor is painfully aware that he might just have completely screwed up their efforts to avert the end of the world: he can only hope that their resident time-traveller can think of a way to fix things.

It’s only when he reaches Natalie’s bedroom that Charles realises why nobody has seen her since breakfast: Natalie has apparently gone back to bed. But not, Charles suspects, to sleep. The way she is stretched out on the bed - on top of the covers and dead straight – is too unnatural to be sleep, and when he stretches out with his telepathy it doesn’t feel like she’s asleep, either. It feels like… well… Charles isn’t entirely sure what it feels like… like she’s there, but not there… like she’s lost so deep in her own mind that she’s almost dead to the outside world… it’s a little worrying actually…

A gentle shake doesn’t wake her. Neither does calling her name. So, in an act that is curiosity masquerading as concern, Charles dives into Natalie’s mind…

… and finds himself in a library.

He’s in the space between stacks. There are huge antique-style mahogany bookshelves all around him, stretching off in every direction, their shelves lined with books. He steps closer to the bookshelves, to get a better look at some of the titles. Whenever he’s in library he feels the same academic itch to pull out books at random and start reading them - to see what wonders he might stumble across - and this time is no different. But then he reads the title on one of the books…

_November 1944 - Met Raven for the first time_

Further along the same shelf there’s one that simply says: _October 1962 - Cuba._

He starts walking down the stacks, glancing at titles as he walks past.

_September 1963 – The Xavier Institute opens its doors_

_November 22 nd 1963 – President Kennedy Assassinated. Erik Arrested._

He pauses mid-stride. He reaches out towards the book and then stops himself. It might not happen. He withdraws his hand and then, stuffing both hands into his pockets, he starts walking as fast as he can along the stacks: he knows he mustn’t look at these books, mustn’t open them and read their secrets.

_July 20 th 1969 – Man Walks on the Moon_

_December 1969 – Alex’s draft letter arrives for Vietnam_

He almost stumbles when he sees that one, remembering what Natalie had told the kids about how they died in her future…. It might not happen… He starts walking faster, all but jogging, down the stacks. He no longer looks at the titles, he can’t bear to read them... It might not happen…

It better bloody well not happen.

Finally he stumbles out of the stacks and finds himself in a broad open space. There is a huge desk in the centre of the space, its solid oak bulk is covered in piles of open books and pieces of paper with hand-scribbled notes. The floor is similarly strewn with bibliographic debris. To one side is a huge piece of paper with what looks like a map sketched out, it’s corners held down with piles of books.

But, what Charles finds most interesting is that there are more bookshelves leading off from this central space and they look nothing like the bookshelves he has just walked through. To his left the stacks are made of white painted wood, the sort of cheap generic furniture that could be found in any kid’s bedroom. Straight in front of him they’re made of oak, cut in a simple style with clean curved lines. And, to his right they’re a masterpiece in metal, cast in the flowing curves of the Art Nouveau style, though in one of its simpler permutations: they’re not overly ornate, but rather tastefully done.

Charles takes a few steps towards one of the open books on the desk, trying to see what it says: it’s not like the ones he’s just walked through, those had all been leather bound with titles engraved in gold on their spines. This one is a battered looking paperback. When he gets close enough to be able to read the words, the book suddenly slams itself shut.

“Sorry, Sweetie. Spoilers.”

He turns to find Natalie standing behind him, with a wry smile on her face – it is a smile which seems to imply that she has just made a joke, but not one that she expects Charles to get.

All around him the open books strewn across every surface slam themselves shut and then shoot off into the stacks, back – Charles assumes – to their rightful places.

“Spoilers?” Charles asks, it’s not a word he’s heard used before.

Natalie frowns ever so slightly – it’s clearly a word she’s used to using. “You know when someone tells you how the book you’re reading ends, or what’s going to happen in the film you’re trying to watch… they ‘spoil’ it for you. Spoilers.”

“Oh,” Charles says, that makes sense. Though, her use of the word in this context is somewhat less than reassuring: does she think that is still how the story is going to end?

She smiles slightly. “I don’t think it’s going to end that way.” She says, as if she can read his thoughts – though as they’re inside her head, she probably can. “But, if you know what happened in my future you’ll start looking at people in a different way, start acting towards them differently. You’re already doing it with Erik.”

“Yes, Erik…” Charles says, rubbing his neck in embarrassment and not quite meeting Natalie’s eye.

Natalie’s smile disappears instantly. “What did you do?”

XXXXXX

Exactly twenty-five minutes after Erik storms off from his argument with Charles, Natalie comes all but running down the stairs, her face set in a grim mask.

Raven knows it’s been twenty-five minutes, she’s timed it.

She saw the whole argument through the window in the gym, and while she couldn’t hear what was being said she knows it was serious. She also knows that something has been brewing between Erik and Charles for days now, ever since they found out about Natalie.

There is something the adults aren’t telling the rest of them, and Raven is now determined to find out what it is, because whatever it is it has the potential to tear apart this little mutant family that they’re building here and Raven won’t allow that to happen.

So, she goes in search of answers.

  XXXXXX

Erik doesn’t know where he’s going. And, he doesn’t particularly care that he doesn’t know where he’s going. It doesn’t matter. So long as his feet are moving, taking him away from the mansion (from Charles) it doesn’t matter where he ends up.

God… he had been so close to genuinely hurting Charles back there… if it hadn’t been for Moira…

God...

He needs space. He needs time. He needs…

He’s not entirely sure what he needs.

And, that is unnerving. For years he’s known exactly what he needed: to kill Shaw. And everything in his life had shaped itself around that need, it had given him focus, drive, pushed him through the dark places and the hard times.

But then he met Charles and Raven and suddenly there are other needs: the need to keep other people safe, the need to see those kids happy and content, to watch them grow, to not disappoint them, to be a role model for them, to protect them from the evil in this world, to teach them how to keep themselves safe, to do everything in his power to make sure they don’t need to keep themselves safe, to destroy anything that threatens them…Too many needs pulling him in too many directions. Eventually something is going to have to give, he is going to have to give something up, let something go, and that thought pains him.

Erik has always been painfully aware that a person can’t have everything. But, before he had met Charles Erik hadn’t known that there were so many things a person could want…

Needs and wants… which is which and which is more important?

Too many things.

What is it that he really needs?

XXXXXX

Raven manages to time it so that she meets Charles on her way up the stairs.

“Charles, what’s going on? Is something wrong?” She asks with her best pout, but he hurries past.

“I’m sorry, Raven. Not now!” He says, without even glancing at her. His attention is clearly somewhere else – probably with Erik.

As Charles disappears down the stairs Alex and Sean appear in the corridor.

“What was that about?” Sean asks peering down the stairs at Charles’ retreating back. “We heard yelling and doors slamming...”

“Yeah, sounded like Mom and Dad were fighting.” Alex quips.

Raven snorts. “Is Erik Mom? Or is Charles?” She asks, not sure she can really see either of them in that role… Well, Charles maybe, but definitely not Erik…

Alex frowns. “I thought it was Natalie that Charles was fighting with…”

Raven shakes her head. “Charles and Erik had an argument in the gardens – something to do with Hank’s training I think. Erik stormed off. Then Charles went to get Natalie.”

They all turn and lean over the banisters as more shouting can be heard from below – Natalie and Charles again by the sound of things…. Oh, and there’s Moira as well…

“What the hell is going on?” Alex mutters.

“If Erik is Dad, and Charles is Mom…” Sean muses. “What does that make Natalie?”

  XXXXXX

As he walks, on and on, Erik finds his thoughts drifting back to the night before last. The night when the three of them had shared their grief. Whatever happened that night (and Erik really can’t find the words to explain what that was) has, well… not exactly changed something in Erik… but, loosened something. That burning need to kill Shaw, to avenge his parents and everyone else in the camps, is still there, but now he can view it more objectively.

Shaw does need to die. There is no doubt about that.

But, now Erik is starting to see where things went wrong in Cuba the first time: he staked too much on Shaw’s death, expected it to change things, not just in the world, but in himself. He’d expected killing Shaw to make a difference. In some ways he’s been as naïve as Charles, hoping against himself that removing Shaw would remove evil from the world. And then, when Cuba had happened, when he had killed Shaw, and nothing had changed… when those humans had fired missiles at them on the beach, that tiny spark of hope had been crushed. Every cynical thought Erik had ever had had been vindicated, and in anger and disappointment he had lashed out (not that the humans hadn’t deserved to be blasted out of the sea, but Erik should have had more control than to give in to that urge). And, from that point onwards he had stopped hoping, because what was the point when your hopes were going to be crushed, when humanity was going to consistently prove the worst of themselves.

And now… Well, Erik still knows how cruel humanity can be, how they will easily and consistently turn against anyone who is different. But, there is something Natalie said the other night, no not said, not explicitly, but something that filtered through with her memories and her grief, in the flashes of her past, the trickles of understanding that seeped through the connection between their joined minds: her fiancé, the one who died: he was human. And, he had died protecting mutants…

Erik knows that when they get to Cuba there is still a good chance that the Russians and the Americans will fire on the mutants: on the thing they don’t understand. But this time Erik won’t make the mistake of thinking that they represent the entirety of humanity: there are always exceptions like David and Moira. The question is though: are these exceptions enough? Are these precious few who are not afraid of mutants - not afraid of the future - large enough in number to make a difference?

Can humans and mutants really co-exist as species and not just as individuals?


	17. Chapter 17

Curiosity is a powerful force. In this particular case it is strong enough for Alex, Sean and Raven to overcome their current ill-will toward Hank.

They find him in the lab, bent over a microscope as per usual.

The three young mutants sidle up to Hank, trying to act as if they haven’t spent the last 24 hours being mad at him. Hank glances at them briefly, frowns and then goes back to staring down the microscope lens.

The silence in the room stretches on, as Hank waits patiently for one of the other mutants to crack and explain what they want. Over Hank’s head a furious argument with eyes and gestures goes on as Alex and Sean try to persuade Raven that she is the one most likely to get the most out of Hank. Reluctantly she concedes to their arguments.

“So…” She says nonchalantly, leaning against the lab bench next to Hank. “What were Erik and Charles arguing about?”

“I don’t know.” Hank says glancing up from his microscope with a worried look on his face. “But, it’s something to do with Natalie’s future.”

“What do you mean?” Sean asks, his brow furrowing.

Hank shakes his head in frustration – he wants to know what’s going on as much as the others. “I’m not sure, but Erik said something about Natalie’s future justifying his fears…”

“I didn’t think Erik was afraid of anything…” Alex mutters.

Raven gives him a patronising look. “Erik’s afraid of lots of things.”

“Yeah, like what?”

But, before Raven can answer another voice interjects…

“Like you getting yourselves killed because you spent more time gossiping than training.”

They all turn to see Moira standing in the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her and a deep frown on her face.

  XXXXXX

Erik knows he has a choice to make.

Several choices in reality, but they’re all bound so tightly together that they might as well be one choice. A choice that can be summed up with a single world.

Cuba.

It is not often that you are faced with the knowledge that a choice you are about to make can change the fate of the world.

He knows what Natalie wants him to do in Cuba.

And, he knows what Charles wants him to do in Cuba.

But, what does he want to do?

Even with Natalie’s foreknowledge there is no real way of knowing all the consequences of an action. There were so many consequences of Cuba in Natalie’s future, but there were many actions taken in Cuba as well, some by Erik, some by Charles, and some by Moira.

Which were the most crucial?

Which actually helped to push them towards destruction?

Was Cuba ever really the catalyst for the human campaign against mutants?

Yes, it changed Erik’s and Charles’ futures drastically, but did it really make that big a difference to the rest of the world?

Natalie has already admitted that her original plan was to come back to after Cuba, that it had been the future Erik and Charles who had sent her further back. Is Cuba really that important?

Well, it was clearly important to Erik in the future… Important enough to risk giving Shaw a second chance to start a nuclear war, anyway…

And, it is probably worth listening to his older self. But… well… Erik hasn’t actually heard his older self’s reasons for wanting Natalie to change Cuba… Obviously, he would have wanted to avoid paralyzing Charles, but beyond that…

How much of Cuba does he really need to change?

  XXXXXX

“What’s going on, Moira?” Raven asks, her voice almost pleading.

The CIA agent doesn’t try to deny that something is going – the teenagers are grateful for that: the fact that she respects them enough not to lie to them. “It doesn’t matter. It’s under control.” She says instead.

“Didn’t look very under control…” Alex mutters.

Moira gives him a stern look. “Either you trust us Alex, or you don’t.”

“Why should we trust you when you don’t trust us? Why won’t you tell us what Natalie showed you?” Alex demands.

Moira sighs. “It’s not about trust, Alex.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about making sure that Natalie’s future doesn’t happen.” Moira says firmly.

“Surely we can do that better if we know what it is we’re trying to prevent!” Raven points out.

“In this particular case, it’s nothing that you can prevent. This is between Erik and Charles.”

“So, we’re supposed to just sit back, let Erik and Charles yell at each other and hope they sort whatever it is out in time?” Alex asks scathingly.

“Yes, mainly because it’s none of your business; as I said it’s between Erik and Charles. And in the long run it won’t matter anyway, because Erik and Charles are going to make sure it is all sorted out and that it goes right this time.”

“And in the short term?” Hank asks.

“In the short run?” Moira’s tone is edging towards annoyance. “In the short run, you’re all going to help me get lunch ready!”

  XXXXXX

As the sun begins to tinge the western horizon pink, Erik’s footsteps start to take him back in the general direction of the mansion.

He stops though when he turns down a road and comes across a jeep parked on the verge: a jeep that looks suspiciously like the one they commandeered from the CIA.

“There are sandwiches in the back of the jeep if you’re hungry.” Says a voice from the far side of the vehicle.

Erik walks around to the back of the jeep – but doesn’t go searching for the promised sandwiches. Natalie has spread out a blanket on the verge, in the last patch of sunlight, and is lying on it staring up at the sky, watching the clouds roll by.

“I’m not hungry.”

Natalie glances over at him and smiles wryly. “I’m going to call bullshit on that. You missed lunch and it’s almost dinner time…”

Erik’s only response is a raised eyebrow: clearly he’s not in the mood to admit to any kind of weakness.

Natalie shrugs; she’s willing to let him cut off his nose despite his face, if that’s what he feels like doing. “Even if you’re not hungry. I am. Pass them over would you?”

He stares at her for a moment and then wordlessly reaches into the back of the jeep and grabs the battered rucksack that is sitting there. He takes the few steps that bring him close enough to drop the bag next to her. She sits up and pats the ground next to her. He stares at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised. She stares back. After a moment Natalie wins, because she has spent three years teaching teenagers and has mastered the ‘are you really going to be this petty?’ look. Erik sits down on the grass next to her and doesn’t even bother to refuse the sandwich she presses into his hand: Erik’s gotten that look from both Natalie and Moira today, it must be catching…

They eat in silence for a while, listening to the evening chorus of birds singing themselves to sleep, and avoiding the real conversation that they need to have: the conversation that Natalie has been waiting out here all afternoon to have with Erik.

Eventually it is Natalie who breaks the silence. “So,” She says leaning back on the rug and fixing Erik with a penetrating stare. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Erik doesn’t answer immediately: he knows they’re going to have a conversation whether he likes it or not, but Erik appreciates the fact that Natalie seems to be letting him dictate the direction of the conversation: What can he get out of this to help him find a way through his knotted thoughts of the last few hours? What is it he needs to know? What is it that he needs to ask Natalie?

“Your fiancé…” He says after a moment.

“David.”

“Yes.”

“What about him?” Natalie’s tone is defensive and Erik reconsiders whether to continue down this line of enquiry.

Apparently Natalie picks up on this hesitation because she sighs and forces the tension out of her body and her voice. “You can ask about him.” She says, with the subtext of ‘so long as you are careful what you ask…’

“He fought to save mutants…?”

“Yes.”

“Died protecting mutants…”

“Yes.”

“For mutants, or for you?”

Natalie freezes at that question and Erik knows that he is walking very close to the line – if he hasn’t already crossed it – but he has to know.

“He was a principled man.” Again, her tone is defensive, but Erik pushes on: he has to.

“I don’t doubt it. But did he join our cause because of love of you or because of principle.”

Natalie stares into the distance for a long moment; this is clearly painful for her, but she seems to be genuinely considering the question.

“Both.” She says eventually. “I opened the cause to him perhaps, but he viewed mutants as people, not as freaks.”

“Did he view mutants like that before he met you?”

And that hits Natalie hard, but it is a good question. A better one though is: does it matter? Yes, David might have always been more sympathetic towards mutants than most of his colleagues, but when they first met, her offer to assist with calming the anti-mutant riots had still been received with suspicion – a suspicion that had only abated when she had used her powers to save him and his colleagues from serious harm… but that’s a story for another day… today the point is surely that even if David had only started fighting for mutant rights because of Natalie, then wasn’t that a good thing rather than a bad? Because that meant that you _could_ change people’s opinions… it meant that you could save the world if you can just get humans to see mutants as people rather than as monsters…

When Natalie voices these thoughts, Erik doesn’t look convinced.

“You’ll never convince all of them. Some will still think us monsters.”

And Natalie will conceded that point: there will always be people who look for monsters. “But,” She asks. “Does it matter; if the rest see us as people?”

Erik frowns at her. “All it takes is a few…”

Natalie’s thoughts follow Erik’s, towards Germany and the rise of the Nazis: all it takes is a few to fan the flames of hatred into a bonfire… but…

“Erik, if someone decides to go looking for an enemy, then they will almost inevitably find one. And, if they don’t find one then, either consciously or subconsciously, they will create one.”

Erik gives her a sharp look.

“What I’m trying to say is that if you act as if humans are the enemy then they will become the enemy. Yes, some of them will always be against us, but the majority doesn’t have to be, and if the majority is on our side then eventually it will become unacceptable to call mutants ‘monsters’, just like it became unacceptable to say that women shouldn’t vote or that black people aren’t equal to white people.”

“This is a little different…”

“Is it?” Natalie asks sharply. “You seem to be under the impression that humans and mutants are fundamentally different. But, let me tell you something I’ve learnt growing up with empathy – something Charles has learnt growing up with telepathy – up here,” she taps her head, “and in here” she taps her chest, just over her heart, “where it really matters, there is no difference between humans and mutants. We are both just as likely to be heroes or villains. But, mostly we’re just people, petty yes, flawed, but not fundamentally bad…”

She stops talking, almost mid-sentence.

She has just seen the stubborn look that is starting to appear in Erik’s eyes. She needs to stop pushing now, stop preaching, because if she keeps pushing she will just end up pushing Erik away – like Charles nearly did. There comes a point where she will just have to trust Erik to do the right thing…. Well… either she trusts him or she dives into his mind and hijacks his entire brain, but as well as being morally wrong that course of action has a very high chance of backfiring... Besides, as Erik pointed out - yes, she was peeking in his head the whole time - Cuba is not the be all and end all; if Cuba goes wrong they should still be able to save the future, it will just be a hell of a lot harder!

They sit in silence.

Natalie can almost see the cogs whirring in Erik’s head as he tries to process his thoughts, tries to reach some conclusions. A quick glance at his mind reveals the confusion, the maelstrom, going on in there at the moment. She backs out of his head: probing any deeper into Erik’s thoughts at the moment could upset his mental processes. Anyway, how can Natalie hope to figure out what he is thinking when Erik doesn’t even know himself? And, as she’s already told herself, she is going to have to start trusting Erik at some point…

They sit in silence.

The sun sets and the stars start to come out, and still nothing is said between the two of them.

Eventually, Erik glances over at Natalie, but he doesn’t say anything. She raises a curious eyebrow at him, “Time to go back?” She suggests.

Erik gives a short nod but still doesn’t say anything.

  XXXXXX

Charles is waiting for them when they get back: he appears in the corridor the moment they open the front door, looking dishevelled and contrite.

Erik pauses, the moment he spots Charles, a deep frown suddenly creasing his features.

Natalie glances between the two of them, wry amusement in her eyes as she watches them size each other up. “You know, the world isn’t going to end just because you two disagree with each other.”

They both turn to look at her, scepticism evident in their faces and it strikes Natalie just how young they both are, not just in years, but in experience. Yes, Erik has already been through a lot in his life, but there is so much more that Magneto went through in the years after Cuba. And Charles… well, Charles’ darkest days were those after Cuba and they shaped him in so many ways, both bad and good.

They’re both so different from the men Natalie knew.

Natalie sighs and resists the urge to rub her forehead. “It didn’t end because you disagreed with each other.” She explains. “Things went wrong between the two of you, because you were both so convinced that you were right and the other was wrong that you didn’t listen to what the other person was trying to say.”

It’s not quite a light bulb moment, not quite, but there is a sudden shift in understanding in response to those words: Natalie can see it in both their eyes. Good.

“Now,” She says into the silence that still reigns over the hallway. “Why don’t you two go and set up a chess game or something and have a conversation where you actually listen to each other. I can sit and referee if you want, but…”

“We’ll be fine.” Erik cuts in. There is a firmness to his tone. Natalie studies him for a moment, then gives a brief nod and leaves them to it.

  XXXXXX

They haven’t said anything for nearly 15 minutes. The chessboard lies between them like a chasm, an inhospitable wasteland that separates them. Charles is finding it hard to hold back his unease at the situation: Erik has a determined look in his eye, a calm about him, that does nothing but unnerve Charles.

Charles doesn’t know what to do: should he apologise? Should he try to start a conversation? Should he continue to sit here in what Charles is finding an increasingly uncomfortable silence?

Erik appears to be annoyingly composed.

Charles moves a knight.

Erik moves a pawn.

Charles moves his queen

“Some humans will see us as a threat.” Erik says the statement calmly, studying the chessboard instead of looking at Charles.

Erik moves a bishop.

Charles’ instinct is to argue back, but they his brain notices the quantifier at the start of Erik’s sentence and he suppresses his instinct. Frowning, he leans over to study the pieces on the board. “Yes.” He says quietly. “But not all of them.”

Charles moves a pawn.

“No,” Erik agrees. “Not all.”

They finish the game in silence, but the tension in the room has eased.


	18. Chapter 18

“It will work, Alex.” Natalie says biting down on the frustration in her voice.

“I thought you were hoping to change your future…”

Natalie takes a deep breath, pinches her nose, and doesn’t rise to the bait. “Let’s at least give it one more go.”

As Moira returns from the other end of the bunker – where she had been putting out the flames from Alex’s latest attempt at controlling his powers – she gives Natalie a sympathetic look: Alex’s frustration is being expressed in a steady parade of sarcastic and biting comments, each one of which is testing the women’s patience just that little bit more.

“What’s going on between Erik and Charles?” Alex asks suddenly, staring bluntly at Natalie.

Moira frowns: she thought she put those questions to bed yesterday.

Natalie stares back at the teen for a moment. “Have you ever made a mistake Alex?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“One big enough that you would want to go back in time to change it?”

Alex’s reply comes more slowly this time. “Yes.”

“If you did go back in time and change it, then would you still want everyone to know about the mistake, even though you had changed it?”

“No.”

“Well then, stop asking about Erik and Charles.”

Alex looks put out, but he can’t really work out how to argue back against that.

“Now,” Natalie says firmly, drawing them back to the task at hand. “You’re trying to hit the one in the middle...”

Reluctantly, and knowing that by doing so he is admitting defeat in this argument, Alex gets into position for another attempt at destroying mannequins.

Alex stretches and then glances back at the two women standing just behind him. “Don’t you two want to maybe wait outside the bunker?” He asks sarcastically: today’s training session has not been going well, if anything he feels like he’s getting worse…

“We’re good here.” Natalie says shortly.

“Whatever,” Alex mutters angrily (anger is so often used to cover up fear), “it’s your funeral…”

It isn’t, thankfully, and while Alex doesn’t quite succeed in only hitting the one in the middle, he does at least get closer than any of his other attempts…

XXXXXX

Later, Moira and Natalie are in the kitchen sharing conversation and a mug of tea, having just finished putting lunch (a sausage casserole) in the oven, when Sean bursts back into the house, flushed with the success of his first flight. Erik, Charles and Hank follow at a more sedate pace, proud smiles creasing their features.

“It went well then.” Natalie’s dry understatement is shot through with real affection; but, Sean doesn’t seem to notice as he launches into a description of the afternoon’s adventures at breakneck speed.

“Erik pushed me off! Right off the top!” He exclaims, and Natalie can’t quite work out whether he’s angry or impressed by Erik’s audacity. “I could have died!”

“Sean, how many metal buckles do you have on that suit?” Natalie asks, smiling softly over her mug of tea. “He had you the whole way down.” Sean’s features crease into a confused frown as he mentally rewrites this afternoon’s experiences in his head.

Sean is still frowning as he glances over at Erik who is looking as stoic as ever. At Sean’s glance Erik just raises an eyebrow. Sean opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again. He shuffles awkwardly on the spot for a moment and then, with blink-and-you’d-miss-it speed, gives Erik the briefest of hugs before darting out of the kitchen.

The adults stare in surprise at the recently vacated door, all of them except Charles, that is, who is looking at Erik out of the corner of his eye with a thoughtful - if slightly guilty - expression on his face. Maybe it’s Natalie’s future encouraging him to think the worst of Erik, but until Natalie had pointed it out, Charles had forgotten all about the metal on Sean’s suit…

After a moment Erik breaks the stunned silence, and draws their attention away from Sean “Is Alex making progress?” He asks Natalie and Moira.

Natalie frowns slightly, thinking back on today’s training session with Alex. “Some, but not much unfortunately; he seems to getting there slower this time around.”

“How did Alex crack it last time?” Moira asks.

Natalie hesitates before telling them: The idea that Charles has so far been unable to help Alex in the way he did in the other future is worrying: it shows that things are already starting to change, and that not all of those changes are necessarily in their favour…

 So, she is strangely reluctant to tell them: not because it feels like cheating – she is more than willing to cheat in order to save the world – but because she is worried by the idea that they might need to cheat with something like this… That they may need to cheat like this again in the future… She doesn’t want them relying on her cheating, doesn’t want them thinking that her knowledge is, by itself, enough of a backup to stop the world from ending. It isn’t. Even with all her foreknowledge, the war might still come, the world could still end…

Then again maybe that in itself is reason enough to cheat. She just doesn’t want to want to make a habit of it.

She tells them - and prays that she doesn’t have to make a habit of cheating.

  XXXXXX

Another day. Another attempt. Alex is getting frustrated by all these failures: yes, Natalie might have seen him in her future having gained control of his powers, but Natalie’s intention has always been to change the future, maybe she’s succeeded…

Alex watches glumly as Natalie and Charles set up the mannequins for another attempt. So far today Alex has made little progress, while he can now consistently ensure that he only hits things in front of him, rather than in any direction, further accuracy eludes him.

“Right,” Charles says after finishing positioning the final mannequin. “Now, hit the middle one without hitting me or Natalie, there’s a good chap.”

Alex stares at him in blank surprise. “You can’t be serious!” But, there Charles is standing, to the right of the middle manikin, with Natalie standing to its left: three mannequins and two real people and Alex is only supposed to hit the middle mannequin… Jesus…

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Alex turns to look at Natalie, begging her with his eyes to be the voice of sanity.

She looks back at him, “Come on Alex, what are you waiting for?” She asks in a no-nonsense sort of voice.

Alex gapes at her for a moment and then squares his shoulders for another attempt…

_I really hope this works as well as it did in your future…_

_Me too._

XXXXXX

Moira glances down at the stopwatch in her hand. “One minute, ten seconds.” She announces.

Hank looks imploringly at Erik, who remains impassive.

“No.” Erik says firmly. “Less than one minute around the grounds and then you can have them back.”

Hank’s eyes narrow slightly in annoyance, but he wordlessly gets ready for another lap.

“3… 2… 1… go!” Moira presses the stopwatch and Hank speeds off around the grounds.

Moira glances over at Erik. “Do you think it’s occurred to him yet that we would have no way of knowing if he’s cheated?” She asks with a small smile.

Erik glances back at her, the edges of his mouth curling up slightly at the edges. “Probably not.” Like Charles, Hank does not have a natural instinct for deception.

Hank reappears and Moira clicks the stopwatch as he stops in front of them. “One minute, three seconds.”

“Nearly there.” Erik says encouragingly, and this time there is a look of determination on Hank’s face as he steps up to their make shift starting line.

“3… 2… 1… go!”

Hank speeds off.

“It was a good idea.” Erik complements the CIA agent as they wait for Hank to reappear.

Moira smiles: stealing the screws from Hank’s microscope and refusing to give them back until he had successfully lapped the grounds in less than a minute had been her idea though Erik had been the one to implement it.

Hank reappears.

The stopwatch clicks.

“58 seconds!” Moira announces triumphantly. Hank looks surprisingly pleased with himself for someone who only the other day was trying to hide from his powers.

As Erik tips the promised screws into Hank’s hand the metal-bender can’t stop the swell of pride that stirs in him at Hank’s success: he can see now why Charles finds teaching so appealing.

After Hank has the microscope screws returned to him Erik expects him to disappear immediately to return them to their rightful place, but the young Doctor hesitates.

“When is Natalie going to tell us about Cuba?” He asks nervously. “I don’t mean the things she can’t tell us…” He adds hurriedly, remembering Erik and Charles’ mysterious argument the other day. “But, there must be things she can tell us, things that can help us beat Shaw, like where he’s going to be, what advantages he has…”

Erik and Moira exchange a look: it’s a fair question. “Leave it with us Hank,” Moira says. “We’ll sort it out.”

XXXXXX

After Alex has succeeded in not killing them, Charles takes the teen down to the kitchen for a celebratory Cola before dinner.

Natalie disappears upstairs for a few moments alone. She’s starting to feel the strain of the last week. Oh, she’s felt strained for months, long before the Xavier Institute went on the run, but this last week has been a different sort of strain: before it had been the strain of simply staying alive, of holding on to as much as she could while the world slipped into madness around her… this last week though… it’s been like juggling a dozen balls, trying to keep them all in the air at once, trying to track and follow their progress, trying to predict where they’re going to be next… it’s exhausting…

But, it’s nearly over.

The day after tomorrow will be Cuba. And that thought is far more terrifying than it is comforting… What if she’s got it wrong? What if she’s messed up and Cuba goes wrong again? Or what if it gets worse? What if Shaw does actually succeed in starting a nuclear war?

Shit.

These are not helpful thoughts. She knows that, but she can’t stop them. Doubts and second-guesses creep into her mind however how hard she tries to keep them away. Eventually, she is just going to have to cross her fingers and hope, as she watches their little team fly away to Cuba… the trouble is… what with all her experiences during the war… she’s rather forgotten how to hope…

A knock on the open bedroom door announces Moira’s presence. “Ready for dinner?” She asks.

“Yes!” And, God isn’t she! Something to distract her from these maudlin thoughts…

Natalie follows Moira down the stairs and then frowns slightly as the CIA agent heads towards the study instead of the kitchen. Natalie follows, feeling a little apprehensive.

Everyone is in the study, perched on every available seat like a flock of gargoyles, and staring at Natalie as she enters the room.

“What’s going on?” Natalie asks, feeling distinctly like she’s being ambushed. And then she sees the chalkboard on the other side of the room, on which someone has written in big letters: CUBA.

Right.

Without being asked she makes her way over to the chalkboard while Moira squeezes onto the couch between Raven and Charles. As she picks up the chalk Natalie briefly feels as if she’s back at the Xavier Institute, about to take a class, except they never used chalk at the Xavier Institute:  it was all computers and gadgets. There is something satisfyingly old-fashioned about holding chalk in her hand.

She reaches out and starts to draw a crude map on the board, the chalk crumbles under her fingers and it takes her a few tries to get the pressure right – she can’t remember the last time she used chalk, she was probably six or something – but soon she gets the feel of it. She sketches in an outline of the beach, adds in some childlike drawings of boats to signify the Russian and American fleets, an arrow to show the direction of the _Aral Sea_ and then with one bold movement draws in the embargo line. She takes a step back to admire her handiwork, it’s crude and artistically awful but just looking at it fills her with something that’s almost reminiscent of hope. As she turns to see all the waiting faces peering at her and the chalkboard she can’t help thinking back to the pin board they had in that cabin in the woods, this feels so similar and yet so different: this isn’t an academic exercise, this is real, and that is both utterly terrifying and strangely reassuring because this _is_ real, and maybe, just maybe they can really change the future.

“Before we start, I have a question.” Hank says over the silence. “If we didn’t beat Shaw in your future, can we be sure that your plan will work in this future?”

Natalie pauses for a beat: she’d forgotten that they haven’t completely explained things to the kids yet. “You did beat Shaw in my future.”

Hank frowns. “Then why did you come back here? Why risk changing Cuba?”

Natalie resists the urge to sigh: she really doesn’t like that question, but if she doesn’t answer to Hank’s satisfaction then he will keep picking away until he finds out what _really_ happened in Cuba, and if that happens then none of these kids will ever trust Erik again and chances are they _won’t_  beat Shaw in Cuba. So, she goes for a half-truth: a misdirection. “This was the only point I _could_ come back to. It had to be the moment Courtney died, otherwise there would have been no body for me to come back to.”

The others seem to accept this explanation (and Charles doesn’t even look at her disapprovingly for skirting the truth – he doesn’t want them to know about Erik either), but Hank still looks unconvinced. She holds up a hand to stop him from asking more questions. “Not now, Hank. For now, can we concentrate on how you beat Shaw?” Hank looks suitably chastised and falls silent. “Right, thank you.” Natalie continues. “Now, your first problem is going to be locating Shaw’s submarine, when there’s no sonar on the plane. That’s where Sean comes in…”

And on she goes, explaining about Sean’s sonar, about the way Riptide, Angel and Azazel will attack them, about having to land both the plane and the submarine on the beach, about Shaw’s anti-telepathy helmet… On and on they go through the night, going over everything she knows, the different possible ways that events could unfold. They come up with plans for all the eventualities they can think of, and throughout the whole thing Natalie feels a sense of almost déjà vu: it’s oddly reminiscent of her time in the woods with the Professor and Magneto, planning how to change the past.

Through each discussion, each argument or idea Natalie can see this little team pulling together, coming together into a fighting force that is more than capable of averting a nuclear war. And by the time they finish, in the early hours of the morning, and collapse into bed, Natalie is actually starting to believe that they might pull off this whole changing the future thing after all.


	19. Chapter 19

The next morning (after a late start), they all go back to their training with renewed enthusiasm: now they can see what it’s all for, how it will be useful to them in Cuba. And, because the kids are now at a stage where they’re capable of training on their own, Natalie takes Charles aside and suggests that he and Erik go off by themselves and train: that radio telescope probably weighs about the same as a submarine, don’t you think?

Which is how Erik and Charles find themselves standing outside the mansion staring out at enormous structure.

“Well,” Charles says as the two men look out towards the large chunk of metal Erik is supposed to be moving with his mind. “We know you’re capable of moving something that big.”

Erik gives Charles a sideways look that is almost a glare. “We know my future self is capable of moving something that big.” He corrects.

“Not that far in the future.” Charles points out dryly – according to Natalie’s timeline they’ll be in Cuba tomorrow.

Sobered by the thought of how little time they have, the two mutants turn back to look at the telescope. There is a long silence as they both consider the task in front of Erik – what if he _can’t_ do it? After all, Natalie has told them that the future isn’t fixed.

“Why don’t you give it a go?” Charles says after the silence stretches on for too long. Erik is clearly nervous, but he knows it is possible to move something that big; surely that must count for something?

Erik draws himself up to his full height and stretches out his hand towards the large chunk of metal. He digs deep inside himself and draws on the anger that is always lurking there, brings it up and focuses it out through stretched fingertips (the outstretched hand is technically unnecessary, but it helps focus Erik’s concentration). He pushes all his will and his anger out towards that metal, draws on this extra sense, this power that has been gifted to him by genetics and throws it all at the satellite dish. Far away he feels the metal creak and groan as sheer willpower fights against gravity: for a moment it looks like Erik Lensherr will win out over Sir Isaac Newton, but then Erik’s strength wavers and breaks with the telescope stubbornly unmoved.

Erik and Charles stare out at the motionless metal.

Erik rubs his forehead in frustration. “I can’t!” He snaps irritably, annoyed at himself more than anything. “Something that big? I need the situation, the anger…”

“No, the anger’s not enough.”

“It’s gotten the job done all this time.”

“It’s nearly gotten you killed all this time.” Erik is taken aback by the sharpness of the rebuke in Charles words. And, Charles regrets that immediately, but he can’t bring himself to apologise for a comment that is so completely _true_. That anger _has_ nearly gotten Erik killed and it could still get them all killed. But how to show Erik that without pushing him further than he’s willing to be pushed? Charles does have one idea: a thought, a way he might be able to help Erik. But he’s reluctant, scared: Erik doesn’t like having people inside his head, and if Charles does the wrong thing now, says the wrong thing, then all their training and fighting and friendship up to now could be for nothing. So, Charles hesitates with his idea resting uncomfortably on the tip of his tongue…

_Trust your instincts, ask him._

Charles frowns at the voice that appears in his head and then turns to look up at the mansion. It doesn’t take him long to spot Natalie perched on a window seat inside one of the second floor windows looking down on them.

Charles sighs and rubs his forehead in annoyance. Erik raises a questioning eyebrow.

“We’re being watched.” Charles explains dryly.

Erik glances up at the mansion and spots Natalie. “So much for ‘just the two of you’” He mutters, voicing the annoyance Charles feels – as essential as Natalie’s interference might be there is a limit to how much meddling Erik is willing to put up with.

“I can block her out if you want.” Charles offers.

Erik glances at Charles, then up at the window and finally over at the massive radio telescope. He flexes his fingers and feels the familiar anger bubbling away under his skin like an old friend. Apocalyptic future or not, he will not be manipulated. He meets Charles’ gaze and sees the same determination there. “If you would.”

  XXXXXX

“Charles! No! Don’t do that!” Natalie exclaims as telepathic walls go up and prevent her from overhearing the rest of Charles and Erik’s conversation. She slaps her hand down on the windowsill in frustration, but she’s smiling: before Charles shut her out she had felt his determination, both his and Erik’s. The two of them seem to finally be recovering from the shock of the future that Natalie had shown them. That’s good. If they’re really going to save the future; from the Sentinels, from the war, and not just from Shaw, then she doesn’t just need Erik and Charles. She needs The Professor and Magneto; not the men they were in her future, but the men those two old mutants had hoped they could be if they were given a second chance.

“Don’t do what?”

Natalie starts; she’d been concentrating so hard on Charles and Erik that she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings and right there is clear proof - if she needed it - that she has a long way to go before she is as competent a telepath as she was an empath: if she’d made a mistake like that during the war she would have been dead. She turns to see Raven standing in the doorway, arms crossed and a frown on her face.

Natalie shrugs. “Nothing. Your brother is just preventing me from eavesdropping.”

Raven’s frown deepens and she crosses the room to stand next to Natalie; she looks down and out of the window to where Erik and Charles can clearly be seen. “Why were you eavesdropping?” She asks suspiciously.

Natalie glances down at Erik and Charles, both of whom are looking glassy eyed and introspective. “This is one of the most important conversations Erik will ever have in his life: I wanted to make sure it happened right”

“Do they know how important it is?”

Natalie snorts and shakes her head. “If I’d told them just how important this conversation is they would have both freaked out.”

Raven can’t disagree with that; Charles has been uncharacteristically unsure of himself ever since Natalie told him whatever it was she told him about the future that caused Erik to storm out the night before last.

“What’s the future like?” Even as she asks it, Raven knows it’s a silly question. But she has to ask.

“Do you mean before or after humanity sets about systematically trying to kill every mutant and mutant sympathiser?” The sarcasm in Natalie’s tone is to be expected: Raven already knows it was a silly question.

“Before.”

Natalie frowns thoughtfully for a moment and then shrugs. “It was… normal… there were tensions between mutants and humans obviously, but mostly the future was just like the present: people being people, making mistakes, falling in love… ordinary stuff…”

“Did I ever fall in love?”

Natalie smiles, and it’s one of gentle amusement. “I don’t know. I didn’t exactly know you in the future: the only the time I ever actually met you was after the world went to hell, and we were both too busy trying to stay alive to find the time to have an in-depth conversation about your love life.”

“Hank says that nobody would love someone that looks like us.”

“Hank’s an idiot.”

Raven smiles slightly at the matter of fact way Natalie says that: Hank is one of the smartest people she’s ever met, but if growing up with Charles has taught Raven anything it’s that sometimes smart people can be the biggest idiots. Raven crosses the room and sits down on the window seat next to Natalie. The two women look out over the grounds and down at Erik and Charles, who are now staring intently out at the radio telescope; Erik has his hand out stretched. Natalie smiles to herself in relief as the metal starts to slowly turn towards the two mutants.

“So, you don’t know if I ever find someone to love me as I am; blue and all?”

“Even if you did find someone to love you in my future, the future I lived through doesn’t exist anymore.” Natalie says gently. “The mere act of my coming back has changed things. Nothing I remember is certain anymore.” No matter what happens in Cuba, even if it still goes wrong, even if Charles is still paralysed and Erik still walks away, even then; the future Natalie remembers isn’t guaranteed.  Everything has been reset, and for better or for worse the future is now as unknown as it has always been. In reality Natalie is almost as blind as the rest of them.

Raven considers this; Natalie’s tone sounds more like she’s telling the truth than just avoiding answering the question. So she asks again; asks for an opinion, for reassurance rather than a sure statement of the future. “Do you think I will ever find someone to love me?”

“I don’t know.” Natalie says, opting for honesty. “I hope so. I did.”

XXXXXX

2016

Natalie’s head is pounding. The smallest noise is enough to send fresh stabs of pain lancing through her brain, and right now there is a lot of noise. Dr McCoy and Storm are arguing back and forth with about a dozen FBI agents. The whole school is swarming with police officers and special agents (with the Professor no longer here it’s much harder to keep them away from the Institute). And their presence is frightening the students, and that is causing Natalie a different variety of pain: her mind has been royally screwed over by whatever telepath Magneto has managed to recruit to his cause and all her shields are down.  She can feel everything. Every stray emotion, every spike of unease or fear, she can feel it all building up inside of her until she feels like she might explode.

And there is David, looking lost and out of place at the other side of the room. Wonderful, brilliant, David who doesn’t deserve to be roped into this crap; who shouldn’t have to pay for Natalie’s mistakes, who shouldn’t have just lost three weeks of his memory or have a metal band wrapped around his throat – they still haven’t got around to removing that yet. He shouldn’t have to be going through all this. Natalie would say that she shouldn’t have to be going through all this either, but she’s not so sure about that. There is only one reason for that metal band to be around David’s neck. Only one reason Magneto didn’t just kill him: Magneto was holding David hostage, using him to make Natalie do whatever Magneto wanted and Natalie has no idea what that was. She has no idea what she did during those three weeks, no idea what Magneto made her do. But, she knows one thing...

She knows that there is a hell of a lot she would do in order to save David’s life.  

But, what could Magneto have wanted her to do? What plan for mutant supremacy could possibly require an empath? And why hasn’t the rest of the world seen anything of this plan yet? Three weeks is a long time, especially for someone like Magneto. His plan should have been enacted by now. If nothing else, it can be assumed that Natalie’s role in his plan is done, otherwise he wouldn’t have let her go… unless of course letting her go was part of the plan and that telepath did more than just wipe her memory… good God, now that is a scary thought!

But, they’re all scary thoughts at the moment. Magneto. Secret service agents crawling over the Xavier Institute. David with a band of metal around his throat. Three weeks of missing memories with no idea of what crimes, what atrocities, she might have committed in that time.

And then it gets worse.

David’s sergeant walks through the door. 

Shit.

He strides over towards David, and Natalie wants to rush over and stop him – to protect David. But she knows that would only makes things worse.

Then the Sergeant opens his mouth and Natalie knows that things are already worse…

“I told you.” He barks at the FBI agents (who have paused in their argument with Storm and Dr McCoy). “It’s like I’ve telling you for weeks: my officer is completely innocent in all this. He’s been manipulated by that Siren.” The sergeant jabs his finger in Natalie’s direction. Natalie fights the urge to curl up into a ball and wish for the Earth to swallow her whole. “You don’t need to charge him with anything. He was under the control of a mutant and can’t be held responsible for his actions.”

“If I was under a mutant’s control.” David remarks, somewhat coldly. “It was Magento’s, not Natalie’s.”

“Ignore him.” The sergeant dismisses David’s words brusquely. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s still under the influence of that witch…”

“I’ve spent enough time around Natalie to know when she’s using her powers, and she has never used them against me.” David insists.

His superior stares at him coldly. “If you’re naïve enough to think that, then you should reconsider whether the police force is the right place for you.”

The room erupts in noise. David starts to protest loudly, Storm and Dr McCoy protest as well: protests Natalie’s innocence and the unfairness of effectively banning a relationship between a human and a mutant. The sergeant argues back. The FBI agents try to calm things down. It all gets louder and louder, the emotion building to a crescendo in Natalie’s head…

“It’s fine.”

Natalie’s quiet words silence the room. All eyes turn to look at her as she stands up from her seat.

“It’s fine.” She repeats, meeting David’s eyes and willing him to accept her next words. “I’m not worth your job.”

“I think that’s actually my decision to make, not yours.” David replies tersely.

“Except, of course, he’s right. You can’t be sure it is your decision.” And, with that final self-damning comment, Natalie turns on her heel and walks out of the room.

XXXXXX

To Natalie’s relief the grounds are quieter than the house. Most of the students are either inside, hiding in their rooms, or have retreated to the far corners of the estate; waiting for the police officers and special agents to go away. Suddenly Natalie appreciates how vulnerable they feel, how exposed… time was when they could control exactly who came onto these grounds, but since the Professor’s death… they’re not safe anymore. And if Magneto is out there again, plotting and scheming, and setting humans even further against mutants… well… the future doesn’t look very bright at the moment…

It looks even less bright now that she’s broken it off with David.

But what else could she do? She’s not going to get between him and a career he’s poured his life into. He deserves better than that… he deserves better than her…

“You know, for a clever person you can be really stupid sometimes.”

Natalie squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and then turns to face David.

“I’m not worth your job.” She says shortly.

“Again…” David says slowly, reiterating his argument from earlier. “I really think it’s up to me what I consider more worthwhile. Besides,” He adds, “I don’t want to work for someone who thinks that way about mutants.”

“You’re sure?” Natalie asks, her voice heavy with worry. “Sure it’s you that wants this and not me?”

David smiles slightly. “I think I’ve been around you long enough to spot when you’re projecting – you’re not actually that subtle.”

A wry smile twitches at the edge of Natalie’s lips – David has always been good at bringing her down a peg or two when she needs it.

Then the smile disappears. “What are you going to do now?” She asks, concern tinging her voice.

David shrugs. He seems surprisingly un-phased by the fact that he’s just given up the career he’s spent well over a decade pursuing. “Ororo says the Institute is always looking for new teachers; I thought I might join your merry band of mutants, if you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” Natalie asks, confused.

“You seemed quite keen to get rid of me just now…”

Natalie gapes at him. “Because I care about you! I didn’t want you giving up the job I know you love, just for me…”

“Well, yes, I do love my job,” David agrees, pulling Natalie towards him. “But I love you more!”

A smile creeps onto Natalie’s face at those words, onto her face and into her entire being, lighting her features up with happiness.

“God,” David mutters. “I could look at that smile until the day I die.”

Natalie’s smile broadens and, draping her arms around his neck, she reaches up to kiss him.

When their lips finally part, David looks down at Natalie, his face suddenly serious. Natalie’s smile fades slightly and confusion furrows her brow as David stares down at her, studying her with his eyes. He lets go of her waist and brings both his hands up to cup her face. He holds her gently, studying every line of her face as if they contain all the secrets of the universe…

“Marry me.” He says quietly.

She looks back at him in surprise, her thoughts and emotions suddenly very still.

She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she leans over and kisses him again.

Everyone within a mile radius feels her unequivocal yes.

XXXXXX

1962

“Hey! The president’s about to make his address!”

Moira’s shout cuts through Natalie’s reminiscence to Raven, and has her and Raven instantly bolting for the door and down the stairs. Erik and Charles appear from the garden, looking simultaneously flushed with their success and apprehensive: this is it. They have run out of time.

All eight of them watch the president’s address in silence. Seated or standing, they all watch the screen with the same mix of terror and anticipation on their faces.

 “It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile crossing the embargo line that surrounds Cuba as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.”

The broadcast finishes and the silence in the room stretches on. They all slowly turn to look at Natalie. She is still staring at the screen, her fists clenched by her sides and tension in every line of her body.

“You’ve done it before.” She says quietly, though in the silent room the words sound loud. “You’ll do it again.” She meets Charles’ eye, then Erik’s. “You’ll do it.” She repeats. “You will save the world tomorrow.”

The silence stretches on.

“I suggest we all get a good night’s sleep.” Erik says eventually, breaking the strange tension that hangs over the room.

As they all file out of the room, one-by-one, none of them quite know whether they found Natalie’s words reassuring or terrifying.


	20. Chapter 20

In another world, another time, this will be the last chess game Charles and Erik play together as friends for almost fifty years.

That thought hangs heavy over the study and stifles any conversation. Drinks are sipped in silence. Pieces are moved without a word being said.

The silence is suffocating. But neither Erik nor Charles can bring themselves to break it; what if they say something now that pushes them apart, that pushes them towards the wrong outcome in Cuba...

Charles wants to ask Erik what the metal-bender is planning on doing if those missiles are fired. He wants to ask whether Erik is sure - really sure-  that killing Shaw is what needs to be done, because killing Shaw will not bring his mother back, nor will it bring Erik peace...

Erik wants to tell Charles that he understands that not all humans are a threat to mutants, but that some of them _are_ and that none of them can predict whether in the end enough humans will be on their side. He wants to explain to Charles what he plans on doing tomorrow, wants to explain his reasoning. He wants Charles to understand…

But, neither of them say a word and the silence stretches on.

Eventually though all silences are filled…

  XXXXXX

_They’re crouched in the doorway of a ruined shop. Beside her David shoulders his rifle; watching down the street, ready to aim. Behind her Kitty stands guard.  Further along the street she can feel the other mutants waiting; feel their growing tension, their fragile hope that this hastily put-together plan, this ad-hoc ambush will work._

_From far away the heavy thud-thud of the machines coming closer echoes through the ground…_

_She closes her eyes, shuts down all her senses except her mind and reaches out to each mutant and  to each human; pouring determination and courage into her allies and fear into the hearts of her enemies. All around her the world erupts in noise and pain. Through her closed eyelids lights flash and burn; she blocks it out as best she can and focuses on the minds in her head. All around people are screaming and dying and she feels it all. Every death; human or mutant, friend or foe, she feels every single one and each death cuts right through her soul. But, she has to hold on, has to keep focus through all that pain. She has to help her students in the only way she can…_

_She hears the machines coming closer and closer, so close now… but she can’t think about that. She has to concentrate on all those minds; concentrate and trust that Kitty will get them to safety if the monsters get too close._

_Something explodes nearby and the shockwaves knock her to the floor, breaking her concentration for a precious moment and suddenly she’s scrabbling to get it back; to get back to helping. Then there’s a sharp flash of pain nearby, a man’s scream and then a hand on her shoulder and the sudden sickening feeling of being pulled backwards through solid Earth. It’s not the first time she’s been a passenger to Kitty Pryde’s unique form of transportation but previous experience doesn’t make the process any more enjoyable._

_When Kitty finally lets go of her, Natalie rolls over and throws up the meagre contents of her stomach. She blinks open her eyes. They’re in a basement by the looks of things, though the floor is covered in a thick layer of mud and filth. Kitty must have dragged them down through the earth until they reached this underground space. That is the last coherent thought she has. Because that is when she sees David…_

_He’s lying on his side and there is blood everywhere. Kitty is desperately trying to stem the flow but it’s not working. There’s no way it can work; he’s lost too much already. Natalie stumbles across the floor until she collapses next to him. Somehow he finds the strength to turn his head and smile at her. That’s when she realises she can barely see through the tears. She’s shaking as she reaches out and pulls his limp body into her lap, cradling his head against her chest. She doesn’t notice Kitty hovering in the background, unsure what to do; whether to stay or whether to go and help her fellow mutants who are still fighting and dying a few metres above their heads._

_David keeps smiling up at her as the last strength drains out of his limbs; as his blood seeps into her clothes and the life drains out of his eyes. He opens his mouth, tries to say something, but no words come out. So he just smiles and she… she does the only thing she can do... She kisses him goodbye. His lips taste of blood and iron and she will remember that taste until her dying day._

_Her grief explodes._

_Shockwaves of pain and anger rip through her world. Kitty is driven to her knees by the sheer enormity of it. High above them mutants and humans alike are paralysed by the barrage of emotion. The machines aren’t affected though, and later Natalie will wonder just how many died because of her grief. She’s not thinking about that now though. She’s not thinking at all. There is only swirling, raging winds of emotion that rip through her entire being; rip through everything… rip through mental barriers that were put in her mind three years earlier…._

_The storm abates suddenly as the floodgates of those memories split open. Kitty clambers to her feet. Above them the mutants that haven’t died in those fatal seconds of paralysis return to their battle for survival._

_Natalie just sits there frozen as her mind is flooded with memories._

_Kitty glances at her unmoving form and chooses to help the living. She vanishes into the wall and up to the surface: she will return when the rest of their allies are safe._

_When Kitty does return, David’s body has been laid out neatly on some nearby crates, out of the mud and filth that coats the floor. His arms have been folded across his chest and his eyes have been closed. The door up and out of the basement is hanging open._

_Natalie is nowhere to be seen._

  XXXXXX

Natalie awakes to Charles’ hand on her forehead. The bed sheets have tangled about her legs and her heart is beating so fast with fear and adrenaline… and grief … But there is Charles, calm and steady, sitting on the bed next to her; a sad, but sympathetic, look on his face. Natalie suspects he has just lived through that memory with her. She’s oddly glad he didn’t wake her; that he didn’t interrupt her last moments with David.

The mattress creaks and she turns her head to see Erik sat on her other side, with a look on his face that isn’t concern or sympathy but something else entirely: understanding. Erik may not have just lived through that memory with her (Charles is too much of a gentleman to share her memory with someone else without her permission), but Erik understands grief and he understands the nightmares that come with it.

“Sorry.” She croaks, still bleary from the Nightmare.

“Don’t apologise.” Charles’ words are all soft sympathy and surprisingly that doesn’t annoy Natalie.

“You certainly don’t need to apologise to Charles,” Erik assures her. “You just saved him from another crushing defeat at chess. Myself on the other hand…”

At those words Natalie rolls her eyes and then flicks two fingers up at Erik, which elicits a short chuckle from metal-bender. The corners of Natalie’s mouth curl up slightly and some of the tension -the grief- drains out of the room.

There is a moment of calm; of stillness and silence, lacking the tension that has been haunting the house all week. Then…

“Well,” Erik says, standing up to leave. “We should get some sleep: it’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Are you not staying?” Charles asks, his brow furrowing into a frown as Erik moves towards the door.

“Is that an offer for kinky three-way sex, Charles?” Erik’s mouth twitches into an amused smirk.

“Are you ever going to let that go?” Charles mutters in a voice tinged with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“The look on your face was priceless…” Natalie mutters, her voice muffled by the pillows. Then she rolls over and pats the pillow next to her. “Seriously Erik, tonight of all nights you’re going to want to sleep well.”

Erik stops at the door and looks back at the two of them on the bed.

“You can’t save the world by yourself Erik.” Natalie says the words quietly, but her eyes are piercing.

Erik blinks in surprise and his face shifts into a frown.

“You need to start trusting other people.” She continues. “After all, we trust you to do what needs to be done tomorrow.”

Erik stares at Natalie, one hand resting on the door handle: she trusts him? Erik finds that hard to believe. After everything that she has been through Natalie cannot be foolish enough to trust her fate, or the fate of the world, to _anyone_. He meets her eyes and sees the determination in them… and words come back to him, from the night they shared their grief…

_Sometimes trusting someone is a choice; a conscious decision to override our instincts._

Erik isn’t sure whether the words come from Natalie or from his own memory, but he sees in her eyes that right now, this time, she is going to practice what she preaches: she is going to trust Erik. She is not going to ask him what he plans on doing in Cuba tomorrow, she is not going to demand an explanation: she is just going to trust him.

She is placing the fate of the world in his hands.

The magnitude of that realisation stuns Erik: she is trusting him with everything, with far more than any person should be trusted with. And she is trusting him, even though she is not sure what he is going to do; he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, and in Charles’.

They don’t know what he is going to do and yet they are still going to trust him.

Damn. It’s such a stupid thing for them to do. And yet….

Trust.

It’s such a fragile thing. It’s something Erik has never really been able to do: he doesn’t have to have seen all of Natalie’s future to know that no matter how much he might have cared for the Professor, Magneto never really trusted him… until maybe, right at the end, when it was too late…

And it hits Erik that this time around it isn’t too late.

Wordlessly, Erik removes his hand from the door handle and makes his way back towards the bed.

XXXXXX

Raven stares at her reflection. A frown creases her face as she studies herself in the mirror. She reaches her hands up to her face and traces every blue bump and ridge. She combs her fingers through her scarlet hair and stares into the bright yellow eyes of her reflection. She lets her hands drop from her face and fall to her waist. She takes a deep breath and undoes the belt of her dressing gown. She slips the fabric off her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor about her feet.

She stares at her reflection, her frown becoming thoughtful as she realises that she has never really looked at herself properly: up until now she has tended to avoid looking at her natural form…

There is a knock on the door, and Raven in so absorbed with studying her reflection that she says “Come in.” without even thinking about it.

She turns as Hank enters the room. He stops suddenly when he sees her and immediately blushes bright red. Hurriedly he turns his back on her and mutters something in embarrassment.

Raven’s frown deepens as she slowly reaches down and slips the dressing gown back on. “What is it Hank?”

XXXXXX

Natalie dozes in the middle of the bed, while Erik and Charles hold a murmured conversation above her head. It isn’t anything important. They’re just going over the arrangements for tomorrow: what time they need to leave the mansion to get to the hanger, what they need to do to file the flight plan in the morning… the basic practicalities of saving the world…

It’s nothing that Natalie has to worry about; she trusts them to handle those sorts of things.

She has more trouble trusting them with the rest of Cuba, but she will. She already is in fact: she knows there is nothing more she can do, not really, so she isn’t going to try. Oh, she could perhaps try arguing morality with Erik more, try to make sure he is going to do the right thing in Cuba tomorrow, but arguing could just as easily push Erik into doing the wrong thing: the metal-bender can be very contrary at times. So, Natalie chooses to keep her silence, to trust that they have done enough, that Erik will make the right choice tomorrow, and tries to enjoy the calm that comes from knowing that the die is all but cast.

 She slips deeper into a doze, letting Erik and Charles’ quiet words lull her closer towards sleep.

XXXXXX

Charles shares a glance with Erik, as Natalie shifts slightly between them, and he wonders whether Erik suspects that Charles is using his powers to nudge the woman closer towards sleep. His motive is purely altruistic – after the nightmare she’s just relived, she deserves peaceful slumber – nonetheless, he hopes she doesn’t realise what he is doing: he doubts she would approve of the intrusion, especially tonight of all nights.

Charles is just about to check with Erik that they have loaded everything they need to into the jeep, when the bedroom door creaks open and a tear stained Raven appears from behind it. She blinks in surprise: she probably expected Natalie to be alone in the room. 

“Raven, what’s wrong?” Charles asks, worry tinging his voice. Beside him Natalie blinks back to full consciousness, a frown suddenly on her face.

Raven hesitates in giving an answer. “I… uh… It doesn’t matter…” His sister mutters lamely, a blush tinting her pale skin, and Charles feels his heart sink: maybe Raven is going to drift away from him after all…

“Raven.” The name is spoken quietly, but firmly, and Raven glances over to meet Natalie’s eyes. The other woman is giving the shape shifter a look that brooks no nonsense.

Nothing else is said, but after a moment of their locked gazes, Raven’s shoulder slump. Natalie’s expression eases slightly and she sits up, patting the bed between herself and Charles. “Come and tell us about it.” The time-traveller suggests.

Hesitantly Raven takes the offered spot on the bed and then, haltingly, she explains how Hank came to her room, offering her his cure, and how she had turned the cure down… Charles feels a conflicting mix of pride and fear: pride that Raven is strong enough to know her own mind and not hide from herself, and fear that by rejecting this cure Raven may be sacrificing her chance at a normal life… And, now Raven has finished speaking and is staring at Charles with childlike eyes, begging for his approval, his reassurance and he’s not entirely sure he can give it… He glances over at Natalie whose face is completely expressionless and no help whatsoever. Then he glances at Erik who is almost glowing with righteous vindication: it’s not hard to see where he stands… Finally Charles’ gaze falls back on his sister, with her tear-stained face and her arms wrapped tight around her legs, hugging them to her chest. He looks at her for a moment, and then lets out a breath.

Wordlessly, Charles opens his arms and Raven moves forward into his embrace. Charles pulls her tight and presses a kiss on to the top of her head. “So, long as it’s what you want,” He tells her quietly, “and it makes you happy, then I’ll support you.”

Raven’s smile as she snuggles deeper into her brother’s arms, warms Charles’ heart.

On the other side of the bed, Erik and Natalie share a brief smile, before settling back onto the pillows: the bed is big enough that four people in it is snug rather than uncomfortable, and once again a comfortable silence descends on the room.

Twenty minutes later their dozing is interrupted by another creaking of the door and Sean peeks his head around the door. He blinks in surprise on seeing the over-occupied bed. He starts to close the door again, but Natalie’s voice interrupts him “Oh, just come in Sean.” She says, amusement tinging her voice. “There’s room for one more if you’re having trouble sleeping.”

Sean only hesitates briefly before slinking over to join them: apparently Natalie had accurately diagnosed Sean’s problem.

When, about ten minutes later, there is another creak of the door and a self-conscious Alex slips into the room. Charles just lifts up the covers and the teen climbs in between Charles and Natalie.


	21. Chapter 21

Normally Erik wakes up quickly, going from unconscious to conscious in a heartbeat, but this morning he comes around slowly – and discovers someone’s foot digging into his ribs and an elbow lodged in the back of his knee. He cracks open his eyes to find that Sean has sprawled everywhere; the teen is all elbows and lanky limbs. On the other side of the bed Raven and Charles are snuggled up close, and Alex has kept to his fair share of the mattress – why did Erik end up with the octopus?

Natalie smiles over at him when she realises he’s no longer asleep. She’s already completely awake, sat upright with her back against the headboard and her legs stretched out between Sean and Alex. Natalie hasn’t managed to escape Sean’s limbs either - the teen’s left knee is digging into her thigh and one arm is draped over her ankles.

Erik turns slightly and pulls himself up into a sitting position next to Natalie. Sean pours himself into the space Erik leaves behind, but doesn’t wake up. From the higher vantage point Erik has a better view of the mass of bodies that are crammed into the bed. It makes for quite a sight; Erik has to resist the urge to smile.

Natalie isn’t resisting that urge, instead she is beaming in almost motherly contentment. “Adorable aren’t they?” She keeps her voice low and quiet so as not to wake anyone.

Erik grunts, feigning annoyance, but he doesn’t explicitly disagree. Natalie gives him a look which says she can see right through his grumpy exterior to the warm fuzzy feeling inside.

A noise from outside the room draws both their gazes to the door. “It’s Moira,” Natalie informs Erik. “You want to let her in?” She suggests, nodding towards the door with its metal door handle.

Erik glances at her: this habit she has, of casually asking him to use his powers for mundane tasks, is ever so slightly disconcerting. Erik isn’t used to people being so blasé about his mutation. He can’t work out whether he likes the fact she’s not impressed by his powers, or if it annoys him.

He opens the door and savours the look on Moira’s face: _she_ is still impressed by his powers.

Then Moira notices the collection of mutants curled up in the bed and her expression softens into an affectionate smile. And it hits Erik just how much this human cares about these kids. Erik remembers Natalie’s words from the night he argued with Charles: that where it mattered you couldn’t tell the difference between humans and mutants, and for a moment he understands what she meant: Moira cares about these kids in just the same way that Erik and Charles do.

A movement on the other side of the bed betrays Charles’ return to the land of the living. The telepath’s eyes flicker open and Erik watches as Charles takes in the sight in front of him; the paternally indulgent smile that eases onto the young Professor’s face.

_Remember this,_ Natalie’s voice slips softly into their heads. _This is why you have to kill Shaw, to protect this._

Charles looks over at Natalie with a frown and then he glances at Erik. Erik sees the telepath deflate; sees him finally accept what needs to be done. But that acceptance clearly costs him, and the pain in Charles’ eyes is not something Erik ever wanted to see. Right there and then Erik promises himself that when he kills Shaw it won’t just be for his mother - for the dead - it will be for the living as well: for Charles and the rest of these mutants sprawled beneath the bed sheets.

  XXXXXX

Forty minutes later they’re all awake and dressed – and looking for Hank. Charles frowns at the note pinned to the lab door:

_Gone to the airbase, bring the crate marked X._

_Hank._

Feeling a sense of misgiving Charles pushes open the doors to the lab and stops suddenly, shocked by the devastation in front of him. As Charles carefully makes his way across the room, picking his way through the debris, the rest of the party headed for Cuba cautiously enter the room; frowning at the chaos in front of them.

“What the hell happened here?” Erik voices the question all of them are thinking. Charles pauses in his passage and glances back at the German; he doesn’t have an answer, he has no idea what happened here. But… Charles’ frown deepens as he gaze focuses in on a figure behind the main group.

“Hank’s fine.”

The others turn to see Natalie standing in the doorway, hands in her trouser pockets as she surveys the lab. There’s anger at the edge of Charles’ voice as he gestures at the wreckage all around them and asks. “Do you know what happened here?”

“Yes.” She says simply. “He tried out his ‘mutant antidote’ last night; it didn’t exactly work out as planned. But, he’s fine. A little more blue than he was yesterday, but otherwise fine.”

“Blue?” Alex’s question is tinged with confusion as well as hostility.

“Yes, his antidote accelerated his mutation rather than suppressing it.”

“And you knew this was going to happen?” Charles’ demands, furious.

She meets his anger head on, without flinching. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to warn him?”

“Oh, I thought about it,” Her tone is venomous now. “I thought about it very, very, carefully and then I made a judgement call. And if Hank wants to hate me for it, then fine, he’s well within his rights to hate me. But you,” She jabs her finger at Charles angrily. “You don’t get that luxury! Because, Professor, it’s your damn fault I had to make that judgement call in the first place!”

“I thought he wasn’t that man yet.” Erik says the words quietly, but they cut across the growing tension in the room.

She turns to glare at him for using her own words against her. He meets her glare for glare and for a long moment there’s a vicious staring contest before Natalie eventually inclines her head ever so slightly, acknowledging his point.

“Maybe,” She acquiesces grudgingly. “In which case, don’t you think it’s about time you got on and made sure neither of you ever have to become those men?”

There’s a brief pause as if Charles (and maybe Erik) are considering whether to be diplomatic and maintain the moral high ground, or to respond to the aggression in Natalie’s tone.

“What’s in the crate?” Charles asks after a moment, choosing diplomacy and changing the topic.

“Why don’t you go and have a look?” Natalie suggests.

They all glance apprehensively over at the large crate at end of room.

“There’s nothing in there that’s going to jump out and bite you if that’s what you’re worried about.” Natalie’s voice is dryly amused at their wariness. 

With one last look at Natalie, Charles turns and finishes picking his way through the debris towards the crate.

“Hank has been busy.” Erik comments dryly over Charles’ shoulder, as they all peer at the contents of the crate.

“Do we really have to wear these?” Apparently fluorescent yellow is not Alex’s idea of a fashion statement.

“As none of you are mutated to endure extreme g-force or resist being riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you suit up.” Natalie’s voice says from the doorway. The other mutants all glance at Charles, who gives a hesitant nod. She’s not wrong, after all.

XXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, and they’re all ready and changed into their suits. Natalie is waiting for them in the entrance hall, ready to wave them off. She has hug and a whispered ‘Good Luck’ for each of them as the file out of the mansion one-by-one and head down the waiting jeep.

“Are you going to have dinner on the table for us when we get back?” Erik asks Natalie as he leaves the mansion; last out of all of them. It’s a teasing question, designed to relieve the tension, and it works to a certain extent; Natalie’s expression softens slightly as she flicks a rude hand gesture at him.

He tuts. “Not in front of the children.”

“Oh, shut up.” She mutters, but there’s a small genuine smile on her face now.

Erik’s mouth curls into a matching smile. He takes a step forward, but is stopped by Natalie’s hand on his arm: the smile has dropped off her face and her expression is now deadly serious.

“Remember,” She says quietly, her eyes glancing down the steps, checking the others are out of earshot, “when you kill Shaw, Charles is going to feel every second of it. So, for his sake, be quick.”

Erik stiffens, but nods once in reply. He remembers Charles’ pain from the memories of the future that Natalie showed them. He will kill Shaw as quickly as he can.

Natalie’s hand drops from Erik’s arm, and without glancing back at her Erik strides down the steps and across the gravel to where the others are waiting for him.

Erik stops just as he’s about to pass Moira. He turns with a frown and reaches out his hand towards her neck. She flinches slightly but doesn’t step back as he picks up the dogtags resting around her neck.

“Taking a bit of risk with these aren’t you?” He says quietly, raising one eyebrow at her.

Moira meets his look head on. “I’m choosing to trust you.” She says firmly, without hesitation and with just the briefest hint of threatening: if he breaks that trust…

Erik glances briefly towards Natalie, who hasn’t moved from main doors to the mansion, then back at Moira. Wordlessly he lets Moira’s dogtags fall back to her neck before turning and striding towards the jeep.

Moira glances back at Natalie who smiles slightly at the CIA agent – Moira did the right thing: Cuba is all about trust.

Now all they can do is hope that trust is enough.

  XXXXXX

Forewarned is forearmed they say, but nonetheless when Hank walks through the hanger bay doors it’s a shock: Natalie had said ‘blue’, but she _hadn’t_ said ‘blue and furry’…

“Hank? Are you alright?” Charles’ voice is full of concern: Natalie’s comments were not reassuring.

“It didn’t attack the cells. It enhanced them. It didn’t work.” Hank’s voice is forlorn, and Charles feels a spike of anger towards Natalie for putting Hank through this. Before Charles can think of any words to say to Hank, Raven gets there first.

“Yes, it did, Hank.” Raven says sympathetically. “Don’t you see? This is who you were meant to be. This is you. No more hiding.”

“You never looked better, man.” Erik’s words are meant as a reassurance, but they don’t get the reaction Erik expected.

Hank’s hands are wrapped around Erik’s throat before the German has time to even blink. The strength of Hank’s fury lifts Erik right off the ground. The blood is pounding in Erik’s ears as he struggles for breath, and Erik only just hears Charles’ frantic shout of “Hank!”

“Don’t mock me!” Hank snarls in Erik’s face.

“Hank, put him down immediately. Please.” Charles’ voice, whilst panic-laced, is still too calm for Erik’s liking; especially since the breath is being squeezed out of him. “Hank!” That shout is in a far more (appropriately in Erik’s opinion) panicked tone. “Hank!”

Finally, Hank lets go and Erik is dropped, rather unceremoniously, to the floor.

“I wasn’t.” Erik chokes out, his voice tart with irritation.

“Even I gotta admit you look pretty badass.” Alex comments with an impressed tone. “I think I got a new name for you: Beast.”

It’s hard to tell with Hank’s new features, but the half snarl and shrug that the young doctor gives in response to Alex’s words appears to be at least partially mollified.

“You’re sure you can fly this thing?” Sean asks turning everyone’s attention back to the task at hand. He nods towards the jet, eyeing it warily.

“Of course I can. I designed it.” Hank replies shortly.

As they all climb aboard the jet Erik keeps the thought to himself that in his experience, whether they designed the plane or not, engineers do not necessarily make the best pilots…


	22. Chapter 22

Cuba.

That word, that name, has been haunting them all week. And now, far too soon for their liking, they’re nearly there.

Hank keeps the plane steady as they approach Cuba’s coastline, with Moira in the co-pilot seat. The kids are excited, nervous, jittery – Erik doesn’t need to be a telepath to tell you that. And Charles… Charles is terrified, though he’s managing to keep that fear hidden from the children, but Erik can see it in his eyes whenever Charles glances at him. Erik himself is strangely calm: the decades he spent searching for Shaw, for revenge, will be over today; it will finally be done. He’s not even that afraid of what happened at Cuba in Natalie’s future: forewarned is forearmed, and now he knows what needs to be done to save the future. They’ve discussed and planned; all they need to do now is go through the motions.

_Trust me. Trust us._

Charles looks up as Erik thinks that thought loudly enough for Charles to hear it. He meets the German’s eye and Erik tries not to be offended by the fear he sees in those eyes, the doubt: if Erik was in Charles’ position _he_ would doubt Erik. But Erik knows that’s not all it is; Charles doubts himself as much as he doubts Erik, and more than that there is the knowledge, the fear, that if this goes wrong Charles may never walk again.

_Moira won’t shoot._ Erik thinks at Charles, trying to reassure him.

_You won’t give her a reason to shoot._ Charles replies firmly, meeting Erik’s gaze directly. Erik smiles, but doesn’t say anything in reply.

  XXXXXX

It’s all laid out just as Natalie said; the two fleets facing off and the _Arial Sea_ steadily making its way towards the invisible embargo line.

Which means that down there somewhere is Shaw’s submarine.

First things first though.

Natalie explained the way that Charles had stopped the _Arial_ _Sea_ in her version of Cuba. In their hours of planning and discussion they hadn’t found a more efficient way of stopping the Russian ship. So, this is one event in Cuba that they will not be changing.

Charles closes his eyes, stretches out his mind and slips inside the Russian sailor’s head. It is not subtle, the way Charles highjacks the man’s mind and makes him fire on the _Arial_ _Sea_ _._ But it works.

So, _Arial Sea_ stopped. Next step: find Shaw’s submarine.

Hank levels the plane, holds it steady over the area where they suspect the submarine will be. Wordlessly Charles, Erik and Sean unbuckle themselves and make their way over to the bomb bay doors. The doors open with a mechanical whir and then the rushing sounds of air and ocean all but deafen them.

Sean glances nervously from Erik to Charles and back again. Erik reaches out a hand and squeezes Sean’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” Charles assures Sean over the roar of the wind. From behind him Sean feels Erik tap one of the metal buckles on his shoulder: they’ll both be with him.

Sean glances down at the grey sea beneath them. He swallows the fear settling in the pit of his stomach, takes a deep breath, and jumps.

  XXXXXX

Air rushing past his face. Blood beating in his ears. Deep breath. Scream. Air vibrating, singing at a higher pitch than a normal people can hear. Ocean coming closer. Dip under the waves and it’s just as easy as flying. Sound travels faster in water. Bounces off the seabed. Then he hears it. Echo comes back too soon: something big far above the seabed. Submarine. They’ve found it. He turns back towards the surface, breaks into the air and crows in triumph.

  XXXXXX

In the plane far above Charles allows himself a small smile at Sean’s success. Then he glances over at Erik and gives the metal bender a short nod.

Erik flexes his fingers and then carefully climbs out of the plane and down into the landing gear. He wraps one arm around the wheel struts and reaches out his other hand towards the sea. He feels Charles in his head, passing him the information Sean garnered about the location of Shaw’s submarine. He reaches out in the direction Charles indicates, he stretches out his senses and… finds it. Something that large is easy enough to find once you know where to look. Something that large isn’t so easy to move though….

_Remember, the place between rage and serenity._

Charles’ voice echoes in his head, repeating the words from yesterday. And with Charles’ help he finds that place again, that moment of peace and control balanced between the two extremes. He reaches out, locks his mind around all that metal and straining his senses to the extreme he pulls upwards. He fights against gravity and the laws of physics and, slowly to start with but then gaining speed, he drags Shaw’s submarine towards the surface.

As the submarine breaks the surface and then continues to soar upwards, until it is flying many metres above the sea’s surface, Erik feels a twinge of triumph: one more challenge successfully overcome.

Then the top hatch of the submarine slams open and Riptide appears. Erik ignores him though and concentrates on guiding the submarine towards the beach: it is Charles’ responsibility to deal with Riptide.

  XXXXXX

Charles feels Erik’s satisfaction as the submarine breaks the surface. But, Charles doesn’t have time to appreciate Erik’s success as Riptide appears. Charles extracts his mind from Erik’s – the metal-bender knows what he is doing and no longer needs Charles’ help. Instead Charles reaches his mind out towards Riptide. Without Emma Frost’s protection (or the protection of Shaw’s helmet) Shaw’s companions are vulnerable to telepathic attack.

Just as Riptide is about to summon the winds to down their plane, Charles reaches inside the mutant’s head and… Riptide slumps forward over the top of the conning tower, unconscious.

Simple, but effective.

Then it gets less simple. Angel appears at the hatch, clambers past Riptide’s still form and, after briefly trying to wake Riptide, shoots into the air.

Into the air and straight towards Erik.

Erik’s eyes widen in surprise, and fear. He can’t do anything about the angry, flying mutant that is hurtling towards him: all his attention is focused on keeping the submarine in the air.

Charles hesitates, unsure how to help his friend. If he knocks Angel out the same way he did with Riptide then, airborne as she currently is, she will plummet to her death in the ocean. Charles isn’t yet ready to kill Angel. However, he can’t let her stop them either…

Banshee saves Charles from having to make a decision. The young mutant comes flying up out of the ocean. Propelled by his sonic scream Sean crashes into Angel at high speed and the pair of them go careening off in another direction.

Charles feels Erik’s relief at Sean’s intervention. But, the relief only lasts a moment as all Erik’s concentration returns to guiding the submarine onto the beach.

Above them Hank steers the plane towards the beach, flying it steadily towards what will hopefully now be a safe landing.

  XXXXXX

Moments before the plane’s wheels touch down, none too gently, Erik lets go of the wheel struts, drops and rolls onto the sand and away from where the plane lands, sinking slightly as it does so. Nearby the submarine crashes down, rolling over as it does so and crushing some nearby palms.

Erik stands up and brushes himself off while the rest of the team unbuckle themselves. After all their discussion and planning there is no need for orders: Hank and Alex exit the plane and join Erik in the sand, Moira stays near the comms, Charles positions himself near enough to a window for him to see outside and Raven takes up position at the plane door ready to defend Charles from any attack.

Riptide is still unconscious; dangling from the conning tower. Angel is occupied with Banshee somewhere above them.

That just leaves Azazel.

The red-skinned mutant stands in front of the fallen submarine and grins, clearly undaunted by the fact that there are three of them and only one of them.

_Crack._

And Azazel is right next to Hank. Hank and Alex both dive for Azazel.

_Crack._

All three of them are gone.

Erik glances at Charles through the window. Charles shakes his head. Unfortunately Azazel moves around too much for Charles to get a proper read on the teleporter and knock him out the way he did with Riptide.

It looks like the kids are going to be on their own with Angel and Azazel.

  XXXXXX

Erik doesn’t waste time worrying about Hank and Alex (or Sean) and their fight. They have their jobs to do, and he has his. They’ve planned this. And thankfully, that means that this time around there is no need to waste time looking for Shaw: thanks to Natalie Erik knows exactly where he will be.

But, first Erik needs to disable the nuclear reactor that Shaw is using to charge himself up. Erik rips open the metal of the submarine, opposite where Natalie said the switch for the nuclear reactor would be. He steps inside the submarine and carefully picks his way across the sloping floor towards the lever. With Shaw’s minions either unconscious, or distracted by the kids, Erik’s passage is unhindered and the reactor is soon disabled.

Now Erik can turn his attention to Shaw.

He turns towards where he knows the Shaw will be. He takes a deep breath and screws up his anger, for a moment forgetting Charles’ lessons about rage and serenity: He tears the metal outwards, twists it and bends it sharply inwards so that it pierces the glass panels that keep Charles from seeing where Shaw is. Erik pulls at the cables that surround the chamber smashing the panels and showering Shaw with broken glass. Erik sees Shaw instinctively duck to avoid the shattering glass. As Shaw ducks he turns towards Erik and Shaw’s eyes widen slightly in surprise as he recognises his reluctant protégée. Erik doesn’t give Shaw chance to do anything else. Fast as a snake, one of the metal cables darts out and plucks Shaw’s helmet off of his head.

The instant the helmet leaves Shaw’s head the man freezes in place, hands still raised to protect himself from the glass that has now stopped falling. Erik takes a few purposeful steps so that he is directly in front of Shaw’s line of sight.

“Are you ready Charles?” Erik asks as he studies Shaw’s eyes; wide and fearful.

_Not really, but you’d better do it anyway: I can’t hold him for long._

“I’ll be quick.”

_I know._

Erik has rehearsed this moment so many times in his head. He floats the Reichsmark out of his pocket and up into the air so that Shaw can see it clearly: so that Erik can see the fear in Shaw’s eyes. He has rehearsed this. He knows the words he is going to say… but… he can feel Charles in the back of his head, tense and afraid of the pain that the telepath knows is coming...

Erik promised Charles he would be quick.

Without saying a word Erik flicks the coin through Shaw’s skull as fast as metal will go through flesh and bone.

Shaw’s body folds in on itself and collapses to the floor with a soft thud. For an age Erik just stares at it. He feels… numb… that’s how he feels, numb. Not happy, not relieved, not angry or vindicated, just numb. It’s done. Shaw is dead. It’s over.

Erik steps forward, picking up the fallen helmet. He turns and walks out onto beach; leaving Shaw’s body behind him.

  XXXXXX

The moment Erik steps out on to the beach he starts running: through the open door to the plane’s cabin he can see Raven and Moira supporting Charles who looks worryingly like he might be unconscious.

Erik skids to a halt next to Charles just as the telepath’s eyes flicker open. Erik starts breathing again.

“Well, that was certainly quick…” Charles says weakly, something almost like dry humour hidden amongst the pain and weariness in his voice.

“You’d have complained if I’d done it slowly!” Erik retorts, relief making his words sharp and light all at once: Charles is going to be fine.

“True.” Charles agrees, gently pushing away Raven and Moira’s support: he’s strong enough to stand on his own again now.

Further conversation is interrupted by the sound of someone slamming into the sand. The four of them turn to see Hank rolling in the sand with Azazel.

_Crack._

Erik and Charles share a look, but before they can do anything to help Hank there is another pair of crashes as Angel and then Alex and Sean crash into the sand. Angel’s wings have clearly been badly damaged by Havoc’s beam. While clearly a bit battered the boys appear to mostly be OK – thankfully.

_Crack._

Hank and Azazel are still locked in combat. From the frustrated frown on Charles’ face and the way his gaze flickers from place to place following the battle Erik assumes that Azazel is still moving too fast for Charles to knock him out (Angel on the other hand, is now unconscious in the sand thanks to Charles).

With Angel safely unconscious Alex and Sean skid across the sand towards Hank and Azazel.

_Crack._

Hank is doing an admirable job of holding onto Azazel: the teleporter is finding it difficult to shake off the scientist.

Alex and Sean skid to a halt and then suddenly change direction as Azazel and Hank reappear somewhere else.

Erik frowns: Azazel is tricky. They knew that before they came and they spent a lot of time discussing it when they were planning Cuba.

Unfortunately they never managed to come up with a fool proof way of stopping him.

_Crack._

This time Azazel takes Hank far up into the air. It’s a favourite trick of the teleporter’s; dropping people from a height. But this time Hank digs his claws into Azazel and they fall together as the teleporter tries to shake Hank off.

“Charles!” Erik shouts: this is one of the scenarios they _had_ planned for. Hopefully Hank will be able to hold onto Azazel for long enough.

“On it.” The telepath replies, fingers already pressed against his forehead.

Far above them Azazel goes limp.

Now for the tricky part….

Erik stretches out his power as fast as he can: Hank has multiple buckles on his suit and Azazel is wearing a belt. So, they are both wearing metal. But it isn’t much; and they are both travelling very fast.

Nearby Sean takes a running leap across the sand and screams at just the right moment, becoming airborne. He’s come a long way since his first flight; he no longer needs the height of a fall to fly.

Sean shoots upwards, towards the falling mutants. Erik is slowing their fall as best he can, but they are still travelling dangerously fast.

Sean doesn’t bother with subtlety – there is no time - he just careens into the falling mutants in a controlled collision from below, trying to stall their downward momentum with some of his own upward momentum.

Another scream as Sean tries to fight the pull of gravity. They are going to hit the ground and they are going to hit it hard. Hopefully with Sean and Erik’s interventions they won’t hit it _too_ hard.

Crash.

The three mutants hit the beach in a tangle of limbs and a spray of sand.

Erik and Charles are running before they hit the ground, but Raven and Alex get there first. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief as Hank and Sean groan and pull themselves to their feet. They’re alive. And they don’t appear to have broken anything.

As they help Sean and Hank up, and stare down at the unconscious Azazel, there is a pause as they try to take in the fact that they have just averted a nuclear war. Except, of course, that is not the only thing they are supposed to be averting today…

The sounds of guns firing echoes across the ocean.

Damn.

Charles had hoped against hope that this time around the humans wouldn’t fire on them. Charles watches as the deadly metal arcs towards them, waiting for Erik to stop them, hoping that that is all Erik will do with them.

Suddenly the missiles stop. They hang in the air, suspended motionless.

Charles feels time slow, feels his breath catch and the pounding of his heart freeze as the missiles slowly start to turn.

“Erik!”


	23. Chapter 23

It’s been just over an hour since the others left for Cuba, and already the waiting is starting to drive Natalie up the wall. Maybe she should have gone with them to Cuba; at least then she wouldn’t have to suffer through this infernal waiting. No, she was right to stay: she would have just been a liability. She has to trust them now, trust that they listened to everything she told them – that Erik listened.

At first it hadn’t been too bad. In fact it had been a relief to have the house empty: to not have the voices in her head anymore. She hadn’t realised quite how tiring it is keeping up mental shields, keeping out other people’s thoughts – Natalie can understand why Courtney turned to drugs in an attempt to stop the voices. Natalie is used to having to hold mental shields at all times, of course, but empathy and telepathy are different. When she was an empath (and, God, she still finds that a strange way to start a sentence) if she’d let her shields slip then the worst that was likely to happen was a mood swing (or if she was particularly unlucky, as had happened once, and she let her shields slip with a couple of horny teenagers down the corridor she might feel the sudden inexplicable urge to jump the nearest red-blooded male: Logan in this particular case. He’d been surprisingly gracious about the whole thing and kept his word when it came to never mentioning the incident again). If she lets her shields slip as a telepath, however, she might accidentally become privy to someone’s most private thoughts - a violation she very much doesn’t enjoy. At least when she slipped with her empathy it tended to only be herself that she hurt.

Now though she’d almost welcome the voices back into her head: at least they would distract her from this incessant worrying. God, she needs something to distract her!

The empty house echoes loudly and the seconds tick by with agonising slowness. Natalie paces the corridors alternately reassuring herself that things will be fine and panicking that she didn’t do enough; that Cuba is still going to go wrong. She curses the slow passage of time and her own inability to manage her worry. Then she pauses in her pacing, stopping just outside the kitchen: Erik’s sarcastic comment about having dinner ready on the table comes back to her. Well, cooking will at least give her something to do while she worries and waits…

  XXXXXX

“Erik!”

Charles’s tone is panic laden and behind him Erik can feel Moira raise her gun, cock it and take aim. But she doesn’t fire. Not yet. For that, Erik is grateful.

“Erik. For God’s sake don’t do this!”

And that’s the point where Erik turns to look at Charles. Erik’s hand is still raised and all his concentration is on those missiles, keeping them aloft and turning slowly back to face the humans who fired them, but his gaze is now focused on Charles who is glancing between Erik and the missiles; looking pale and terrified.

“They need to understand the mistake they’ve made, Charles.”

“Erik, don’t!”

For a long moment the three of them stand there in a frozen tableau: Erik with his arm stretched to the heavens; Charles with his eyes pleading with Erik to display mercy but reluctant to take any action against the other man; Moira with her gun arm steady and levelled at Erik. Above them the missiles continues to turn, to rise in their arc and drift back towards the ships out in the bay.

“Charles, trust me.” Erik’s voice is calm and that gives Charles reason to pause, to hope; if Erik sounded angry then Charles is pretty sure the two of them would be rolling in the sand right now. Nonetheless, Erik can be so unpredictable…

“If you kill those men, we will become the monsters.” Charles’ voice is calm: much calmer than he feels - a lot calmer than he feels!

“Yes. I know.” Erik’s face is expressionless, his tone emotionless – and Charles _still_ can’t tell what he’s thinking; not without going inside Erik’s head. And he won’t do that, won’t break that trust, not now; not with so many lives in the balance…

Then, slowly, one-by-one, in what Charles will later realise is an amazing feat of control; the missiles start to explode from left to right in a choreographed wave of fire. The missiles are high in the air and the shockwaves from the explosions only gently rock the boats far below: but it is a clear warning of what those missiles _could_ have done. And Charles realises that _that_ is what Erik had intended all along – a warning to the humans of what they are capable of, but also of what they have chosen _not_ to do - scaring the living daylights out of Charles was just a side effect.

As the echo of the last blast fades away Charles feels himself able to breathe again. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Moira lower her gun, her chest heaving in heavy breaths as the earlier tension dissipates.

But, all Charles’ attention is on Erik. The two of them haven’t moved in minutes; neither of them are willing to break the spell, to risk shattering this moment because it just doesn’t seem real. Did they really just succeed in changing the future?

It’s Raven who breaks the stillness, by striding over to Erik and slapping him right across the face.

Charles blinks in surprise; Erik’s “Ow!” is almost comical.

“What the hell were you thinking? Is that what happened in the other future? You killed all those people?” Raven’s voice is shrill and that tells Charles just how scared she had been by Erik’s display. And that just adds an extra layer of relief – because it means Raven isn’t going to become that hardened young woman who followed Erik into murder and madness.

Erik just looks down at Raven for a long moment, rubbing the sore side of his face. But, instead of answering her, he turns to Charles: “I think we’re done here.”

“Indeed,” Charles agrees, trying to stop himself from laughing out loud in relief, trying not to drown beneath the sheer enormity of what has just _not_ happened. “I think we are.”

“Charles!” Raven exclaims; shocked that Charles seems so unconcerned with the possibility of Erik as a mass murderer: if only she knew just how much that very thought has haunted him for the last week…

“No, Raven.” Charles says firmly. “You’re going to apologise to Erik, and then we’re going home” As Raven pouts and all but stamps her foot, before reluctantly muttering an apology, Erik can’t help but see the dark irony in Charles’ words: in another future it would have been Erik who should have been apologising. He doesn’t dwell on that thought for long though; he can’t, because Charles’ final word catches up with him…

Home.

It’s been a very long time since Erik had a home.

  XXXXXX

The flight back to Westchester is tense.

Alex and Sean are not yet ready to forgive Angel’s betrayal, they’re glaring at her while she reluctantly lets Moira tend to her injured wings. Azazel and Riptide watch on with trepidation. They clearly don’t know what to make of all this: an hour ago they were trying to kill each other, and now… now, nobody is quite sure what is going on. As far as Erik is concerned, no matter what they’ve done - and he certainly understand their reasons for doing it – they do not deserve to be left to the mercy of scared and vengeful humans.

As for the rest of the plane: Raven is still giving Erik concerned looks, Alex and Sean are bouncing with adrenaline (when they’re not glaring at Angel), Moira is as professional as ever, Hank is composed enough to fly the plane unsupervised, and Charles… well… Charles appears to be in a state of semi-shock; the pain of Shaw’s death and the terror of seeing Erik turn those missiles… the fear that Cuba might happen the same way despite all Natalie’s warnings… have all left their mark and Charles sits at the back of the plane, pale and trying not to shake. Erik can appreciate what Charles is going through; Erik himself is in that calm moment before shock sets in. He’s been in this place before and knows how to hold onto it; how to fend the shock off long enough to get his team back to the safety of Westchester.

His team.

His and Charles’.

  XXXXXX

Even before the plane has landed Erik knows that Natalie is waiting for them in the hanger. Her presence appears in his head briefly; he can feel her checking that he is there and that he is uninjured. Then her presences is gone as she moves onto the next member of their team: Erik can track her movement through subtle changes in the other’s body language: the wince on Charles’ face, the slight frown on Alex’s, the gentle smile on Raven’s, the surprise on Angel’s…

They step off the plane, and there she is, bouncing up and down on her heels and beaming with a smile that could rival the sun with its brightness. Raven is the first off the plane and is immediately wrapped in a huge embrace from the not so large woman. Then Sean and then Alex are pulled – somewhat less willingly than Raven – into matching hugs. When Charles steps off the plane Natalie actually squeals in delight and punches the air. “Legs!” She exclaims, much to the confusion of the younger mutants. “Oh my God! Legs! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Her enthusiasm draws a smile on to Charles’ strained features and he doesn’t resist her hug, or the kisses she bestows on each of his cheeks. Then Charles is released and Natalie bounces up the ramp to stop in front of Erik, who has been watching her antics with amusement in his eyes. She stops just in front of him, and for a long moment doesn’t say anything: just looks up at him with that big grin splitting her face.

“Dinner’s waiting on the table.” She says eventually with laughter in her eyes. Erik can’t help it, a smile cracks his features. She gives a short bright laugh and then pushes herself on to her tiptoes to bestow a kiss on his cheek. “Well done.” She whispers in his ear, and then she is gone, darting around him to throw her arms around Moira who returns the other woman’s hug with as much enthusiasm as it is given.

And then it’s Hank’s turn. Natalie pauses for the slightest moment and then throws her arms around his furry neck. “God!” She exclaims. “I have missed that blue face!” Hank tenses underneath her arms, suddenly realising that she knew this would happen to him when he tried the cure. She ignores his discomfort, kisses his blue cheek and then whispers words that only Hank can hear: “Well done, Mr Ambassador!” Hank jerks back in surprise, remembering a conversation - that feels so long ago now – about what happened to the mutants in the other future. Natalie winks at him and places a finger over her lips: this information is just for him, an assurance that one day the world will be able to accept someone who looks the way he does now.

Then she is off again, back down the steps to greet the remains of Shaw’s mutants with a handshake and a smile: her welcoming demeanour seems to confuse them more than anything, but she pointedly ignores their confusion as she herds everyone into the waiting jeep.

“Come on, everyone. It’s time to go home!”

  XXXXXX

It’s a larger relief than Erik expected, stepping back inside the Xavier Mansion: It really does feel like coming home. And, for a moment that thought chokes Erik’s throat with fear: he has had a home before and he had that torn away from him and he cannot let that happen here, not to these young mutants. And, for a moment, as his feet cross the threshold he feels himself gripped with the need to run far, far away from here; to take himself away from these people that he cares so much about so that his bad luck can never hurt them the way it hurt his parents. And for a moment he almost, _almost_ , turns and walks away from the house and everything it means, but then Natalie’s hand is there gently squeezing his forearm and he glances down to see her smiling up at him; a small understanding smile. “Dinner’s on the table.” She says again and her smile stretches, turning up at the corners as if those words are a private joke between the two of them. Maybe they are. Because there is something more to them than just the teasing, something that is only between Natalie and Erik. Something that speaks of fear and loss and that terrifying hope that maybe, just maybe, after everything they’ve been through and everything they’ve lost; they can have a second chance at happiness. At family.

  XXXXXX

Stepping into the study, Sean and Alex’s jaws drop at the huge piles of food laid out on the low table that Natalie has dragged into the centre of the room. “Bloody Hell! You kept yourself busy!”

Natalie shrugs a little self-consciously, “Cooking took my mind off worrying.”

“You must have been really worried!” Sean notes.

“Yes, well. Can you blame me?”

Hanks frowns. “But you knew we were going to beat Shaw...”

“No, Hank.” Natalie corrects him. “I knew that in another version of Cuba you beat Shaw; there was no guarantee you were going to succeed this time.”

“That wasn’t what you were really worried about though, was it?” Raven says pointedly – it really isn’t a good idea to underestimate any of these young mutants: they are all more perceptive than they are given credit for. “There’s something else, something you told Erik and Charles, and probably Moira… why did you keep saying ‘Legs’ when Charles got off the plane? Was it to do with Erik nearly blowing up all those sailors?”

Natalie turns to Erik, a frown on her face and hands on her hips. With one raised eyebrow she gives him a long questioning look.

“They were perfectly safe.” The metal-bender assures her, after returning her look for a moment. “I just made it clear to them what _could_ have happened.”

“Glad to hear it.” Natalie replies shortly.

“So, that wasn’t what you were worried about?” Hank asks, his brow frowning in confusion.

“No.” Natalie says shortly, and to Natalie – and Erik’s – relief the children don’t appear to catch on to the fact that she’s lying through her teeth.

“Well, what was it then?” Raven asks, curiosity burning in her voice. “Come on! Cuba’s finished now! Surely it can’t hurt to tell us…”

Natalie glances briefly at Erik and Charles but they seem content to let her answer, only a slight tension in Erik’s body language betrays his worry over her answer. “In the other version of Cuba Charles was injured,” Natalie begins, “he spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down. We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you worrying about it when Erik and Charles had it in hand and you all needed to be concentrating on stopping Shaw.”

The kids seem to accept that explanation – if somewhat reluctantly. But, they’ve all forgotten that there are guests in the room…

“What’s going on?” Angel asks in confusion. “What do you mean ‘the other version of Cuba’?”

Everyone turns to look at Natalie.

The time-traveller gives a small sigh: she is getting bored of being the one doing all the explaining. “Sit, Eat, and I’ll explain…”

  XXXXXX

It is hours later and they’re all stuff to the gills.

Stuffed to the gills, and drowsing in the comfortable knowledge that _they_ have just saved the world….

Moira and Charles are on one sofa, sat so close to each other that they’re all but spooning. Natalie and Erik have claimed the other sofa, while the kids have taken occupation of the chairs and the floor. Their guests are huddled towards one end of the room, not quite sure where they fit in to this ensemble. Raven’s head is resting on Hank’s shoulder as they lean back against Moira and Charles’ sofa. On the other side of the room Natalie’s head is resting on one arm of the sofa, while her feet have found their way into Erik’s lap. The whole room is a picture of relaxed domesticity and Charles can all but feel the room humming with contentment and happiness.

Actually, he _can_ feel the room humming…

“Natalie,” Charles asks slowly. “Are you doing that?”

“Hmmm?” The other telepath asks sleepily, lifting her head off the sofa arm. “Doing what?” As she blinks back to wakefulness the humming stops.

“Don’t stop.” Sean mutters drowsily from where he’s curled up in one of the armchairs. “S’nice.”

“What was I doing?” Natalie asks frowning slightly.

Charles passes over his memory of the humming he’d felt a few minutes ago.

“Oh.” Natalie’s eyes go wide in surprise. “I didn’t realise I could still do that…” A smile creases her features. “I mean it’s not quite the same as when I was an empath, but… Wow, it’s nice to know I can still do that…”

“What was it?” Angel asks from her perch on the chair at the far end of the room: as far away from the others as possible.

“It felt like purring…” Sean says sleepily.

Natalie’s smile widens, but her eyes gain a drop of sadness. “That’s what David used to call it… My purr…”

“Do it again.” Raven says, snuggling deeper into Hank’s furry shoulder. Hank looks mildly shell-shocked; as if he can’t quite believe this is happening.

“I think Charles would rather I didn’t.” Natalie says shrewdly, taking in the strained lines around Charles’ face.

Raven lifts her head off Hank’s shoulder and peers up at her brother in concern.

“I’m fine.” He assures her.

“You had the mental equivalent of a bullet pass through your skull, Charles. A headache is to be expected.” Natalie points out. “I’ll try to keep my mind inside my own head for a bit, no point making it worse for you.”

“Thank you.” Charles says sincerely.

Natalie smiles back at him, and then her expression morphs into a frown as something floats into her field of view. She reaches over and grabs Shaw’s helmet out of mid-air. She glances at Erik, who is lounging languidly on the other side of the sofa – his left hand is slung over the back of the sofa, while his right is resting on Natalie’s ankle. He raises a condescending eyebrow at her confusion. After a moment she catches up with his line of thinking. Hmm… It’s an interesting idea… She turns the helmet over in her hands thoughtfully. In her future this helmet has so many connotations: it is pretty much synonymous with Magneto and his cause. It is a physical symbol of the distance between the Professor and Magneto. But, this future it doesn’t have those connotations. It can become something else…

After a moment’s hesitation Natalie puts the helmet on her head.

On the other sofa Charles sits up in surprise; surprise with a hint of worry. He has seen bits of Natalie’s future; like Erik he knows what that helmet can become.

As the metal settles on Natalie’s head, her lips part in a little “Oh…” of surprise. She tips her head to one side, frowning thoughtfully, and then she plucks the helmet off her head and tosses it over to Charles.

Charles frowns as the metal lands in his lap. He picks it up cautiously and glances over at Natalie.

“Put it on.” She says with a small smile.

After a moment’s pause he does so.

“Oh…” Charles says with the same thoughtful frown that had graced Natalie’s features moments before, “That is strange…”

“Yes,” Natalie agrees, “but quiet.”

Raven glances between Charles and Natalie. “Quiet?” She asks. “As in keeps the voices out? Does that mean Natalie can purr again now?”

Charles smiles tolerantly down at his sister. “Yes, I guess it means she can. If she wants to.”

Raven smiles back and then turns to give Natalie her best puppy eyes. The telepath smiles back at the teen and then, closing her eyes, leans back into the sofa… and the room gently fills up again with an almost imperceptible humming, a soft purr of contentment that seeps right into the soul and slowly warms it from the inside.

The inhabitants of the room all relax back into their seats, enjoying the sensation. Even Erik relaxes into it; absently the hand resting on Natalie’s foot starts to rub slow circles around her ankle bone.

Alex notices the motion. “I think Erik likes your purr too…” The teen leers. Then he winces when a floating spoon smacks him on the back of his head.

  XXXXXX

After Charles and Moira head up to bed (and Erik seriously doubts those two will be spending the night in separate beds), the children are not far behind. Raven plays host and shows their guests to spare bedrooms, finds them sleeping things and generally acts the responsible adult. Sean and Alex try to insist, through their yawns, that they’re not sleepy, but Natalie chivvies them out of the study and up the stairs knowing that the moment their heads hit the pillow they’ll both be out like a light. Hank follows behind, not even trying to pretend that he isn’t exhausted. And then it’s just Erik alone in the study, surrounded by the debris of their ‘Saving the World’ Feast.

Natalie reappears at the door, having herded the boys up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. She leans against the doorframe, and stuffing her hands in her pockets surveys the carnage in front of her. “So,” She asks. “Should we start clearing this mess up now or leave it until the morning?”

Erik glances over the piles of used plates and half eaten food; they’ll have to tidy up at some point, whether today or tomorrow, and Erik is still wide awake and a long way from sleep – too much has happened today, too many thoughts are running around his head: he won’t find sleep any time soon. “Might as well do it now.”

Natalie nods and starts picking up dirty plates. Erik joins her and it takes them less time than expected to clear away all the debris and return the study to some semblance of normality. When they’ve finished, Natalie collapses inelegantly onto one of the sofas, while Erik strides over to the drinks cabinet and retrieves two glasses and a large bottle of whiskey. As he settles down on the sofa next to her Natalie accepts the offered glass and a generous measure of alcohol. She takes an appreciative sip and then holds up the glass.

“To the honoured dead. May they sleep a little easier tonight.”

Erik raises his own glass and wordlessly chinks his glass against hers. They both down their drinks and then Erik reaches over and refills them.

They both settle back into the soft leather and sit in a comfortable silence, sipping at their drinks.

Eventually it is Erik who breaks the silence. “What now?”

Natalie puffs out her cheeks and then lets out a long breath. She swirls her glass in her hand and stares down at the rotating amber liquid for a moment. “Now? Well, now… we still have a war to prevent… a social revolution to start… a school to found and hundreds of children to teach and guide... We have a future to build… lives to live...”

“Live.” Erik rolls the word around his mouth – he’s spent so long merely surviving life, that the concept of living it seems almost foreign. “Do you remember how to do that?”

Natalie gives a short laugh and shakes her head. “Not really, no.”

“Pity,” Erik says with a wry smile. “I was hoping you could show me how it’s done.”

Natalie tilts her head to one side and smiles at him. “I guess we’ll just have to work it out as we go along.”

“I guess we will.”

Natalie holds out her glass again, proposing another toast. “Here’s to hope and joy, may we both find them again.”

“To life.” Erik replies. Another clink, and amber liquid once more slides comfortably down their throats.


	24. Chapter 24

When Charles comes downstairs the next morning, he stops at the door to the study and smiles to himself. Apparently, neither Erik nor Natalie made it to bed last night: there they both are, curled up together on one of the sofas.  And that sight fills him with so much joy and so much hope; because they’re both so damaged and yet between them they’ve managed to save the world. And maybe, just maybe, they can save each other as well.

He just stands and watches them sleep for a moment, enjoying the sight, and letting the realisation of what it means sink in: they succeeded in changing the future! They changed Cuba, Charles still has his legs and Erik is still here… yes, they have problems ahead: none of them are foolish enough to think that humanity’s fear of mutants will just disappear overnight. But at least now they have a chance to avoid the terrible future Natalie lived through. And that thought is worth savouring for a little while.

Erik’s eyes flicker open slowly and then narrow in confusion as they take in the brown hair blocking his vision. It takes a few seconds for him to realise that it is Natalie’s head resting on his chest; that her whole body is splayed on top of his. It’s not the sight he expected to wake up to, but he’s definitely woken up to worse. And the steady rhythm of her sleeping breath – a breath unhindered by nightmares – brings a soft smile to his face. Then Erik notices the figure standing in the doorway and the way it is smiling at the two of them…

“Not a word, Charles.” Erik warns, his smile disappearing from his face as if it had never been there.

Charles’ smile widens, “I wouldn’t dream of it, my friend.”

Natalie stirs and shifts, snuggling closer to Erik and murmuring something; somebody’s name. Her eyes drift open blearily and try to focus on the face in front of her. She blinks, frowns and then sits up so suddenly - pushes herself away from Erik so fast - that she tumbles off the sofa. She curses as her limbs hit the floor.

Neither Erik nor Charles laugh. In fact, as Natalie sits up and rubs at her eyes to stop tears forming, they don’t say a word: it’s painfully obvious that for a moment Natalie had thought that Erik was somebody else.

Any uncomfortable acknowledgement of what just happened is interrupted by the arrival of a bleary-eyed Sean in the doorway. Thankfully, the teen is completely oblivious to the undercurrents in the room as he rubs his sleep-heavy eyes and mumbles something; the only discernible word of which is “Breakfast?”

Natalie is apparently the most adept at translating teenage mumbles – three years teaching at the Xavier Institute will do that to you – she answers Sean’s question without even blinking in confusion. “There’s cake left over from last night. It’s in the second cupboard on the right.”

Sean’s eyes light up at that. “Cake?” He asks hopefully, though a touch unsure: adults are not normally advocates of cake for breakfast.

“You saved the world yesterday; you’re allowed cake for breakfast.” Natalie assures him.

“Sweet!” Sean exclaims, suddenly wide awake and darting off towards kitchen to get his breakfast before any of the adults change their mind and make him eat something more conventional.

“Is that a rule from the future?” Erik asks, his tone somewhere between amusement and disapproval.

Natalie nods while stifling a yawn. “Saving the world and birthdays.”

Erik snorts and Natalie smiles slightly. Charles just rolls his eyes but doesn’t try to argue against this new ‘cake for breakfast’ rule. And just like that the awkwardness of a few moments before is forgotten. Natalie dusts herself off and, accepting Erik’s offered hand, climbs to her feet. The three of them stand for a moment in companionable silence, feeling the future stretching out in front of them, full of hope and potential. Then a crash from the kitchen and the sound of Sean’s mumbled swearing brings them back to the present.

Natalie sighs. “No rest for the wicked.” She mutters heading towards the kitchen. Charles and Erik follow her without any real sense of urgency: Sean’s swearing sounds more frustrated than anything and Charles hasn’t picked up any sense of pain from the teen – he’s probably just knocked something over.

When they reach the kitchen they find Sean with a broken plate and cake splattered all over the floor. It’s a simple mishap, one that in any normal household would be cleared up within moments and forgotten about not long afterwards. But, nothing about this household is normal…

There’s a sharp crack, a puff of smoke and suddenly Azazel is in the middle of the kitchen. Sean screams in surprise; and when Sean screams he really screams. The adults wince in pain and clamp their hands over their ears as glasses and crockery shatter. Then there is the pounding of feet on wood and suddenly the rest of the household is piling through the door: Alex has his fists up and Moira has her gun out.

Sean’s scream cuts off abruptly and there is a deep silence for the briefest of moments before everyone suddenly starts talking at once.

Natalie pinches her nose in frustration and sighs.

Erik glances at her with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Is this a typical morning at the Xavier Institute?” He asks quietly as the rest of the kitchen is subsumed in noise

Natalie glances at Erik and then back at the growing domestic incident in front of them: in all honesty this is _nothing_ compared to some of the mornings she’s had to face while working at the Xavier Institute. “Pretty much.” She replies, with the smallest of smiles. Then, she adds in his head… _Trust me Erik, within a year you’ll be wishing you had run off to found a terrorist organisation: running a school for gifted youngsters is not a job for the faint-hearted!_

Erik meets her gaze and holds it for a moment: that sounds like a challenge worth rising to.

A strangled shout sounds above the hubbub and they turn to see Alex lunging for Azazel.

Challenges will have to wait. For now there is a minor domestic crisis to sort out…

  XXXXXX

Director McCone’s first thoughts on waking up the day after Cuba are: ‘God dammit! Did that really happen?’ Did the world really come that close to destruction? Did the USA really fire on their own citizens just after those same citizens had successfully averted a nuclear war? It’s a complete mess and while the Pentagon might think they’ve just got away with it, while citizens up and down the country might be celebrating one averted disaster, Director McCone can’t help thinking that although one disaster might have been avoided, another was initiated: he would not be surprised if a hoard of angry mutants turned up demanding an explanation for why they were attacked.

Despite those early morning thoughts it still comes as a complete surprise to Director McCone when, just before lunch, Agent McTaggert appears in a puff of smoke in the middle of his office along with two men; one who looks a lot like the devil (including the tail…) and one he recognises from Agent Babish’s files as Erik Lehnsherr. God dammit! The mutants really have come knocking on his door…

“Good Afternoon, Director.” It’s Lehnsherr who speaks first, his words are polite but with a hint of menace and McCone remembers that Lehnsherr’s power is to move metal: there is a good chance it was him who stopped those missiles. In other words there is a good chance that several thousand US soldiers are only alive today because this man decided to show them mercy.

“Good Afternoon, Mr Lehnsherr, Agent McTaggert. I’m assuming this is about Cuba.” He doesn’t get up from his desk – he will not be intimidated by people who come barging into his office without being invited (even if those people have powers he can’t even begin to imagine and have just prevented the world from being plunged into nuclear war…).

“Yes, Sir.” Agent McTaggert says calmly. “And we’d like to discuss how to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.”

“We?” McCone asks, frowning: with all the fears about ‘reds under the bed’ he is depressingly used to finding turncoats and traitors, but he hadn’t expected McTaggert to turn against the CIA…

“Yes, Sir. It’s a conversation that will benefit both humans and mutants.” And McCone can see the slight rebuke in her eyes and hear it in her voice. He breathes a mental sigh of relief: she hasn’t turned against them… and God, now he’s starting to think like Stryker! These people have just saved the world and been shot at for their troubles: they have legitimate grievances that deserve to be heard. And McTaggert is right: they need to make sure nothing like this happens again.

“And when do you propose having this conversation?”

“Now, if it’s convenient for you.” Lehnsherr says, holding out his hand to the director.

McCone frowns in confusion at the outstretched hand.

“I can only carry you if you are all holding hands.” The devil-like man explains dryly.

“Carry me?”

“Azazel is a teleporter.” Lehnsherr explains, clearly taking enjoyment in the pale shade McCone suddenly turns. A teleporter! Good God, that’s a terrifying thought! What use is any kind of security against a teleporter?

“Don’t worry, Sir. You’ll be perfectly safe.” McTaggert assures him – he assumes she’s referring to his pending journey by teleportation rather than commenting on the security of the CIA in the face of these mutations.

“After all, murdering the Director of the CIA wouldn’t exactly help the cause of peace between our two species.” There is something in Lehnsherr’s smile when he says those words that doesn’t _entirely_ reassure the Director.

“Where are we going?” He asks, instead of letting himself be unnerved by Lehnsherr’s smile.

“The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.”

  XXXXXX

As they materialise in an opulent corridor – one that is definitely a long way away from his office in Langley – Director McCone has to fight the urge to vomit: teleporting is not a pleasant form of transportation! The devil man grins as the director glances over at him – he seems to find his passenger’s discomfort amusing.

“Ah, Director. Welcome.” McCone glances up at the sound of a British accent. Then he frowns at the brown haired woman that he doesn’t recognise. She is walking along the corridor towards them, with a man the Director does recognise as Charles Xavier.

Pulling himself together, Director McCone extends his hand towards the woman. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” He forces a smile: it doesn’t hurts to be polite, especially when you’ve effectively been kidnapped by annoyed mutants.

She smiles and takes the offered hand. “Natalie Walker.” She says, and there’s something unnervingly piercing about the way she is looking at him; as if he is some sort of experiment she is trying to figure out. Subconsciously his gaze flickers away from those piercing eyes, and ends up glancing down at their clasped hands. He frowns as he notices the needle tracks that decorate her forearms: he remembers Agent McTaggert bringing in a drug addled mutant, but he’s pretty sure her name wasn’t Natalie. He glances back up at the woman’s face as they release their handshake: now she is giving him a look which is amused as well as piercing.

“We have a lot to talk about.” She says wryly, before indicating for him to follow Charles and herself along the corridor. Lehnsherr and Agent McTaggert fall in behind them and, flanked on all sides, the Director starts to wonder what he’s really let himself get into.

  XXXXXX

As McCone takes the offered seat, in what is clearly a study, he looks over at the four people sat opposite him: two men and two women, three mutants and one human, all of them looking at him with a singularity of purpose that is more than a little unnerving.

“So,” He says shortly. He is not a man for long speeches or beating around the bush at the best of times: and this is not the best of times. “You wanted to have a conversation…”

“Yes.” Xavier says, leaning forwards towards the Director. So, Xavier has taken on the role of leader in this little band of mutants… interesting…

“What about?”

“The future.” McCone blinks in surprise as Miss Walker speaks. He had assumed that Xavier would be the one doing all the talking, but the young Professor doesn’t appear to be put out by Miss Walker’s interruption. Maybe McCone has misjudged the dynamic of this little group…

“The future?” McCone asks, leaning back in his chair and frowning over at Miss Walker. She just looks straight back at him with a small smile and inscrutable eyes.

“A terrible future was averted yesterday.” Xavier states, drawing the attention back to him.

“Yes.” McCone agrees. “And we are grateful for your service to this country.”

“Strange way to show gratitude: trying to bomb somebody.” Lehnsherr says dryly, looking at McCone with barely concealed contempt in his eyes.

McCone almost lunges forward, suddenly angry. “I argued against that!” He asserts. “It wasn’t my idea and I didn’t want it to happen.”

“We know.” Miss Walker says. She leans forward slightly, and McCone notices the way the other three lean back; giving her room, giving her space…. giving her centre stage…

“We know a lot about you. Director.” She says ominously. “About you, and about your conspiracy to kill President Kennedy.”

McCone blinks at her in incomprehension and then explodes. “What conspiracy to kill the President?!? I would never…!” He glances at McTaggert, looking for support from a fellow agent, but McTaggert’s eyes dart away from him and towards Miss Walker.

McCone turns his gaze back to Miss Walker and glares at her. “I would never harm the President!” He asserts.

Miss Walker smiles at his outrage. “Good.” She says shortly. “We had to be sure.”

McCone blinks at her in surprise, momentarily speechless. Then he opens his mouth to demand she tells him everything she knows about a potential conspiracy to kill the President…

“Now,” She says, speaking before he has a chance to say anything. The smile has disappeared off her face and been replaced with a deadly serious look. “We’re going to have a sensible conversation about mutants in this country. We’re going to talk about how you’re going to ensure immunity for the mutants who helped Shaw, we’re going to talk about how you are going to free Emma Frost into our care. And then we’re going to talk about a trip the President has planned; a trip to Dallas…”

  XXXXXX

Later that evening, as the moon is just starting to creep above the treetops, Natalie walks silently across the grounds.

She presses her eyes shut as her feet guide her away from the house and towards a spot, a short distance from the house, that she knows will look completely different from the way she remembers it... So, she digs deep into her memories and makes it look the way she remembers it…

As her footsteps press down into the grass, the world around her ripples and shifts. Night turns to day. The rolling lawn turns into manicured gardens, and after a few more strides, she comes to a stop in front of… gravestones…

They stretch around her: some that really did exist in the grounds of the Xavier Institute; some that really existed in other places, hastily dug between battles; and some that they never even had a chance to dig…. They’re all laid out in front of her. And, as she squeezes her eyes shut and then opens them again, she knows exactly which name will be on the nearest headstone:

_David Taylor._

A bouquet of flowers appears in her hand: freesias with heather and pine. Purples and greens: the colours they’d planned for their wedding day...

Wordlessly she kneels down and as she gently places the imaginary bouquet down on the imaginary grave, tears that are all too real stream unheeded down her face.

“He would be proud of you, you know.” Says a voice from behind her. “Of what you’ve done.” Natalie doesn’t turn at the sound of Charles’ voice: she knew he was there; after all, for him to even be here she had to let him in to her head.

“Maybe.” Natalie admits grudgingly. “But I’ll never know. Now, he will never even be born.”

“You don’t know that.”

Natalie sighs. “Charles,” She says wearily, “the odds of any one gamete fertilising any one egg are so astronomically large: even if David’s parents do still meet each other in this timeline, even if they do get married and have a son, even if they name that son David it will not be _him_. The laws of statistics say it is all but impossible.”

And, the same goes for all those students she taught: Rogue, Kitty, Bobby… all of them gone… In some ways its worse than them just being dead: there will be no funeral for them, no gravestone, nothing except this image in Natalie’s head. And, eventually, even that will fade...

“None of us last forever, Natalie. And few of us are remembered much beyond our own lifetimes.” Natalie’s frowns at those words: when Charles said them he had sounded like his older self, the Professor. He had sounded _just_ like his older self… Her frown deepens, and slowly she turns her head to look up at Charles… The Professor smiles down at her from his wheelchair, his eyes crinkling into lines that are _so_ familiar to Natalie.

“How…? What…?”

“A memory.” Another familiar voice says from behind her. She knows even before she turns that she will see Magneto standing there. And there he is: the Magneto she knows, looking just like he did in that park years ago. “A memory that Charles put in your head back when he made you forget about our time in that cabin.”

Natalie takes a moment to digest the implications of that. “You wanted me to remember.” She says slowly. “You wanted me to come back instead of Logan. You wanted to change Cuba.”

“You always knew we wanted to change Cuba.” Magneto points out with that laconic smile of him.

“Yes,” She agrees dryly. “But I thought you both had enough sense to resist that temptation.”

Magneto and Professor share a smile over her head. “Apparently,” The Professor says, amusement tingeing his words, “we didn’t.”

“I can resist everything except temptation.” Natalie mutters, shaking her head slightly. “Oscar Wilde.”

“An astute man.” Magneto observes dryly.

“Perhaps.” Natalie says neutrally. “But you took an awfully big risk. What if it had gone wrong? What if Shaw had succeeded in starting a nuclear war?”

“But,” The Professor points out. “He didn’t.”

Natalie opens her mouth to argue back, then changes her mind and shuts it again: it would be a pointless argument at that this point, especially considering that neither of these men are real.

“No, we’re not real.” The Professor agrees: he’s a figment of her imagination, of course he can hear her thoughts. “But he is…” He gestures towards Charles’ frozen form, standing just behind them. “And, so is Raven and Alex and Sean. And so many others. All of whom now have a future stretching ahead of them that is bright and untainted by the mistakes of Cuba. And I will have my legs and Moira her memories and Erik…” The Professor glances over at Magneto and smiles, “Erik, has a chance at peace…”

“And,” Magneto adds, “You have just negotiated a deal with the Director of the CIA that could change the future even more. A deal that could help to ensure the safety of all mutants.”

“Nothing is guaranteed, of course,” The Professor continues, admitting to that caveat. “But now at least there is a chance that it won’t all end in fire. And, if I can say one thing for my students, I know that that is something they would willingly have given their lives for.” The Professor leans towards Natalie and his features curve into a warm smile. “Now, remember us by all means, but don’t dwell on us. As you pointed out, we don’t exist anymore. But you do. The future belongs to you now; make the most of it…”

Natalie feels Magneto’s hand rest briefly on her shoulder as she looks up into the Professor’s smile, and then they’re gone… and Natalie is left looking up at Charles, who is looking down at her with vague concern in his eyes. “Natalie, are you alright?” He asks.

Natalie thinks about that. She thinks about what the Professor and Magneto said. She thinks about all the things she’s lost, and then she thinks about all the things the future has potentially gained… and she smiles to herself; they may not be true now, they may not be true for a long while, but as Natalie says her next words she knows that one day they _will_ be true, and for now that is enough…

“Yes, I’m alright.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Epilogue**

It’s another dingy bar in another deadbeat town. After a while places like this all start to look the same, and he’s seen more places like this in his lifetime than he can count. As the decades tick by the décor may change slightly, but the nature of the clientele (and the quality of the booze) don’t. It’s reassuring, in a way, to know that some things don’t change. However one thing life has taught him is that, every now and again, a surprise will walk through the door.

In March 1964 the surprise that walks through the door of the nameless bar is a girl. She’s in her early twenties: slim, wearing skin-tight jeans, knee-high boots and a short leather jacket; her brown hair is cropped into a short bob. It’s not unreasonable attire for a place like this, but there’s something not quite right about her. For a start this woman stinks of money. It’s not just the gold hoops swinging in her ears, or the expensive cut of her jacket. Nor the quality of all her clothes; there’s the way she walks, a confidence that in his experience only comes when you know you can kill a person without even thinking about it or when you know you have enough money to hire a dozen such people.

He watches her over the rim of his glass as she leans over the bar and quietly places her order. A few moments later his theories about money are confirmed as a full bottle of the _seriously_ good stuff appears on the counter along with two glasses. The sheaf of bills she places on the bar - without even counting them - are quickly disappeared by the bar keep, who knows better than to leave that sort of money lying around.

She picks up the bottle and both glasses and saunters along the bar until she reaches the stool next to him. Wordlessly she sets down both glasses, pours a generous measure into each and then pushes one across the wood towards him. He raises a curious eyebrow, but she just smiles and raises her glass at him before taking a sip. She barely reacts as the strong alcohol slips down her throat and warms her stomach; this isn’t some rich kid play acting –she’s drunk like this before. He waits until she has slipped onto the bar stool and settled in, leaning on the bar top and looking straight ahead, before he picks up the glass she’s given him.

She waits until he’s taken an appreciative sip – it really _is_ the good stuff – before sliding a business card across the top towards him.

And _now_ things are starting to look more familiar: he’s been propositioned like this before, normally when someone wants someone else ‘taken care of’. He’ll listen, and drink this woman’s booze, but will probably turn down whatever job she’s offering –he’s already got a lucrative gig with the Moran Brothers - and this woman looks like more trouble than she’s worth. Still, there’s no harm in being polite and listening to what she has to say – and who knows, sometimes he likes trouble (it keep things interesting). He turns over the business card.

_The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters._

“What the fuck?”

She laughs softly at his surprise. “I’m not asking you to be a student, Logan.” She says, clearly amused. “Or a teacher, though you’d be better at it than you think…” The smooth British accent isn’t what he expected from this woman, but it fits.

“Then what the fuck do you want?” Logan is truly confused; he hasn’t a clue what she’s after. He’s caught so off guard he doesn’t even ask her how she knows his name.

She turns in her seat, so she’s looking straight at him. “I want you to keep your eyes open.”

“For what?”

 _For people like us._ It’s only because he’s looking right at her that he knows her mouth doesn’t move.

There is a long silence.

“I don’t know what you mea-”

She doesn’t let him finish the denial. “Don’t be bloody ridiculous, Logan! You know precisely what I mean.”

He doesn’t try denying it again.

“There are more people like us out there,” She explains. “And right now, most of them don’t realise they’re not alone. Many of them are children; they’re scared and confused. And there are people out there who want to hurt these children: to manipulate them, to turn them into weapons, or to just plain kill them. The Xavier Institute is a safe place for people like us. That’s all I’m asking; keep your eyes open for people like us, who need a safe place.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” In Logan’s world you get nothing for nothing.

The woman smiles. “Us mutants should stick together Logan. So, there will always be a bed available for you at the Xavier Institute, and if you ever find yourself in a tricky situation just give as a call and we’ll come and help you out.”

That sounds like a bit more than nothing to Logan, not that he thinks there’s a chance in hell that he’ll ever take her up on either of those offers.

“That’s it?”

She grins. “That’s it. But trust me; one day you will need our help. And when that day comes we _will_ come to help you, whether you’ve kept your side of the bargain or not.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you Logan, and you _will_ keep your side of the bargain. You would even if we were offering absolutely nothing in return; because you may be many things but you are _not_ the sort of man who walks away from a scared child. And that’s all I’m asking you to do: to _not_ walk away when you come across a scared child.” And with that, she stands to take her leave. She pushes the rest of the bottle towards him. “With my compliments.” She says and then starts to walk towards the door.

Part-way across the room she stops and turns. “Oh, I almost forgot,” She calls back. “Watch out for a man named William Stryker.”

“Stryker?”

“Yes, there’s a good chance that sometime in the next decade or so he’s going to approach you and ask you to take part in an experiment. Whether or not you take him up on the offer is completely up to you. However, you should know that you won’t be the only one he experiments on; and most of the others won’t be volunteers.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

The woman shrugs. “You should know enough to be able to make an informed choice. We’ll be doing our best to try and stop Stryker of course, but he’s a bit of a tough bastard. We have some friends in Washington who are willing to help us bring him down, but they won’t be able to act unless we have some solid evidence on him. And finding that will be easier said than done.”

 Ah, now things are starting to make sense… she wants him to help her bring down this Stryker guy…

“Are you asking me- ?”

She interrupts him before he has a chance to finish. “I’m just giving you information. What you choose to do with it is up to you. Look after yourself Logan!”

And with that, she leaves. Logan stares at the door for a full two minutes before he realises that she didn’t even tell him her name. “Bloody lunatic.” He mutters to himself before turning back to the bar and the nearly-full bottle of whisky sitting on it. “Bloody lunatic.” He repeats, pouring himself another generous measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it. If you did (or even if you didn't) please drop me a comment to let me know what you thought!  
> I do have vague plans for sequels to this story, one looking at how the Kennedy Assassination plays out in this Universe and one looking at the X-men's confrontation with Trask in this Universe. Hopefully I will actually find time to write them at some point. Encouragement to do so is always appreciated!


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